


Run

by Flaignhan



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Fix-It, Reylo - Freeform, Slow Burn, Smuggler Ben Solo, What-If, sequel trilogy rewrite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:14:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 57,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22418311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flaignhan/pseuds/Flaignhan
Summary: After fleeing the temple, Ben Solo goes in search of his dad. He doesn’t want to be a Jedi anymore, but nor does he want to go home. Han shows him how to earn a buck as a smuggler, how to talk your way out of a fight, and when to shoot first. He guides Ben as best he can down the zig zagging path of rehabilitation, determined to protect his son whatever the cost.But the Force has other ideas. No matter how fast or how far Ben runs, it has a way of dragging him back in. Sooner or later, he’s going to have to face up to the reality of Snoke’s obsession with him. Sooner or later, he’s going to have to re-enter the fight.On top of all that, he can’t for the life of him figure out why he keeps waking up with sand in his bed.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 286
Kudos: 509





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to wait a few weeks until I started writing this, but somehow the bug bit me and now I'm midway through chapter six. Whatever. 
> 
> I do want to give a slight heads up that there are very mild allusions to suicidal thoughts in this prologue -- but it's the only time it will really come up in this fic. If that changes I'll let you know. Two options -- you can skip to chapter two if you'd prefer, or you can message me and I'll pull together an edit without that in it. 
> 
> That being said, I hope you all enjoy this. It's a big old beast of a fic but hopefully it'll be a fun ride.

As ever, his dreams are not happy ones.

Darkness pervades, seeping through him like a poison. He’s falling, and there will be no one to catch him at the bottom. It’s just endless black streaked with flashes of red, blips of destruction, and an imperceptible but very present threat of death.

He sees the face, horrid, crooked, every feature mismatched as though it had been modelled by someone who barely knows what a face is. That oversized skull haunts him, tiny ice blue eyes focused on his every move. The white skin that has never seen sunlight hangs in folds around the bones of his face, crinkled like old silk that has lost its sheen.

Snoke is the constant in his life. There has never been a time where he has not dreaded sleep. It makes him vulnerable. In the daylight hours, under the watchful eyes of his mother and his uncle, his influence recedes.

But at night…

It’s intolerable, and he wants to wake from the nightmare but he’s fixed in his position, until he accepts and embraces his destiny. There’s only one other option for him to avoid Snoke, but he has never had the courage to carry it out. He’s a coward.

A quiet click breaks into his consciousness, and there is light, seeping into the darkness. Its green glow surrounds him, but he cannot see a source.

Ben opens his eyes. The light is in his hut, and he rolls over, bleary-eyed, to see the lightsaber. His breath catches in his chest, his own lightsaber flying to his hand, blue blade clashing with green. As his eyes focus, he sees his uncle. He’s half expecting a joke, a test, _anything_ other than the murderous, expression on his harsh face.

He’s on the back-foot — he’s in bed and that’s not even close to a defensive position. There’s no way he can make it out of this. Unless…

He does the only think he can think of. The hut comes crashing down around them. Luke and his lightsaber are swallowed under a thunderous mountain of bricks. Ben’s shoes are lost to the rubble as well, and so he extinguishes his lightsaber and clambers from the wreck. Lights flare across the camp, and he runs.

It’s raining hard, the rocks are slippery and cut at his bare feet as he skids over them. His shirt is soaked through in seconds, the cold sinking into his bones so that every step jars through his entire body.

Behind him, shouts and screams echo through the night air, but are drowned out when a nearby flash of lightning is instantly followed by a ground-shaking rumble of thunder.

The lightning does one job for him. It illuminates the small cluster of ships near the beach. In his haste, to reach them, he missteps, his ankle rolling underneath him. The fall catches him off guard and he tumbles, his shoulder colliding painfully with an outcrop of rock. His hands scrabble against the shale as he slides down the hillside, and then with a thud and a foreboding crunch, he reaches the bottom.

He hauls himself to his feet, and pain sears in his ribcage, air tight in his lungs as he staggers towards the nearest ship. A cry of pain escapes him as he drags himself into the cramped cockpit, but he doesn’t allow himself time to recover. The canopy closes as he flicks the switches on the console, and the engines hum into life. Under the light of the controls, he can see his fingertips, trembling and bloodstained.

He can’t stay here. And he can’t go home, not after what he’s done.

He takes off, rising into the night sky, the ship shuddering under his haphazard command. He doesn’t pick a destination. He can’t make any decisions at all. Instead he prepares for the jump to light speed, bracing himself in his seat. The pitch of the engines heightens, and suddenly he’s surrounded by white light. The ship spins, and an ear-splitting bang is followed by an alarming wail from his system. Before he can do anything, the ship makes the jump to light speed, starlight speeding past him.

Ben wipes his face with his shirt sleeve. Tears and blood are added to the rain-soaked cloth, and he grips the controls, the pain in his side blinding now. He rights the ship, though the alarms continue to blare. It’s hard to focus, and he narrows his eyes on the screen, which keeps going blurry. Perhaps the lightning strike has damaged the visual interface.

Fingers outstretched, he manages to flick the toggle which silences the alarms, though the lights continue to flash, sending a piercing pain through his head.

His other hand slips from the controls, and a voice rises in the back of his mind.

 _Come to me, my apprentice. Come. You cannot go home to your mother now. What would she say? Her own brother, dead at_ your _hand._

The words have no effect on him now. He can barely process them. As he speeds through infinity, he wonders if it’s for the best. He can’t go home. And how can he live with what he’s done? How can he live knowing that his own uncle, his Jedi Master, hated him so much he’d rather he were dead?

And at least… at least if it were to end now, he’d never have to hear the voices again. He could close his eyes without fear, could go into the next life without a shadow on his soul.

He loses his battle with consciousness, and the ship spirals through the galaxy, carrying its pilot to nowhere.


	2. Chapter 2

Everything hurts.

He has no idea where he is, but he’s hurtling through light speed to an unknown destination. He’s recklessly burning fuel, and so he reaches out a hand, groaning as his body protests with a series of white hot pangs.

The galaxy slows around him, and in doing so, turns his stomach. He wretches into the footwell, but only acid rises to the back of his throat. He collapses back into his seat, and watches the screen as it blinks at him. The tail has taken some damage, but it’s not the end of the world. The landing might be a little bumpy, but a forgiving landscape may do him a favour.

Ben swipes at the screen to check his position, and then squints through the viewport at the little yellow dot in the distance. He’ll be able to get the ship repaired at least, and then figure out what he needs to do. Maybe he could stay there, lie low for a little while, and then disappear, somewhere in the outer rim. Some place where his dad dare not step foot.

He approaches the planet, the engine stuttering a little as he draws close. The yellowness is soon explained as he enters the atmosphere. Sweeping sand dunes lay below him, and he slows down, the ship dragging. It grinds as gritty sand gets caught in the airflows, rattling through the engine.

There is a dark speck, and he approaches, narrowing his eyes until he can make out a little outpost. He settles on it as his best shot for repairs, and grips the controls, holding the ship steady as he gets closer and closer to the ground.

He lowers the landing gear - not that it’ll do much on sand - and aims for the shallow side of a dune. He doesn’t need anybody to see the state it’s in. They’ll rip him off for sure.

The damaged engine sputters and dies, and Ben is thrown sideways in the cockpit, jamming the controls in the opposite direction to try and balance out the ship. The ground is approaching fast — too fast — and he braces himself for impact, his muscles straining as he forces the controls as far left as they’ll go, desperately trying to land right side up.

He ploughs into the sand with a crunch that shudders up through him, cricking his neck. He swears loudly as the ship skids to a halt, the metal groaning as the sand shifts beneath it.

He’s alive though, and the ship is mostly in tact, which he supposes is something.

Ben falls back in his seat, banging his head sharply against the headrest and wincing. This ship is not built for someone of his size. It’s like it was made for someone half a foot shorter than him, with its narrow cockpit and stingy seat capacity.

He flicks open the glove box, and there’s a coin purse sitting there. Ben grabs it, and opens it with shaking, crimson stained fingers. Apparently it’s his lucky day. There are a few hundred credits here, more than enough to get him started.

Further back, there is a cloth. He could do with wiping some of the blood from himself before he goes to negotiate for parts, but when he pulls it out it is rigid, its creases and folds unyielding. Ben scrunches his nose and puts it to one side. Behind it is a small hand held hologram projector. Ben takes it, and switches it on.

_“Don’t forget we’re expecting you back for your aunt and uncle’s visit, Elleon! They’ll be arriving on —”_

It’s _Ansad’s_ ship. No wonder it’s so pokey. The top of his head barely reaches Ben’s shoulder, despite Ben being the younger of the two. He hits the button to switch to the next data bank, but the content is far worse than the fussing of Ansad’s mother.

The woman, who is at least twenty years older than both of them, gyrates with a tired expression on her face. She strips off her clothes, layer by layer, occasionally sucking a finger before making a grotesque _pop_ with her mouth. When she has shed every last item, she bends over, her blue form flickering.

Ben switches it off and tosses it to the back of the glove box. The ship feels like an even worse choice now, as he tries to shut down the mental images of Ansad sneaking down from his hut in the dead of night to rub himself raw to that tacky hologram.

He pops the canopy, and picks up the disgusting cloth with the very tips of his fingers, then drops it outside onto the sand. That will, at least, save him from picking it up absentmindedly one horrible day in the future.

The sun beats down overhead, and already it prickles at his pale skin. So many hours on that grey and rainy island have left him unaccustomed to such heat, and so he pulls the canopy down, and waits for the sun to ease off.

Time passes excruciatingly slowly, and the cockpit heats up under the harsh rays, sweat seeping into his blood and mud-stained shirt. He places a hand against his tender ribs and hisses at the light pressure. Two of them are cracked for sure, perhaps three. But at least they’re not fully broken.

He’s grateful for small mercies now. The bright white dot that is the sun looms large overhead, tracking its way across the sky with a cruel sluggishness. All he wants is for it to dip to the horizon, an orange glow lingering while he uses the last hour of the day to secure new parts, with the dim early evening hiding his sorry state.

There’s a buzzing sound outside, and Ben frowns. It grows louder and louder until he sees its source, coming over the next dune and speeding towards the ship. He unhooks his lightsaber from his belt, hand closed around the hilt.

The dusty speeder chugs to a halt, and its rider swings a leg over the saddle as they slide off it. They’re small — smaller than Ansad, even — and they take their goggles and headscarf off, blinking up at him in the sunlight.

Turns out it’s a girl. She can’t be any older than twelve or thirteen, and her slight frame is clad in draped beige fabrics. Her bare arms are littered with freckles, her complexion a little ruddy from sun exposure.

“You need repairs,” she calls up to him.

“Yeah,” he calls back.

“Come down and we’ll talk pricing,” she tells him, and begins to circle the ship like a predator, eyeing up every inch of it.

“I can’t,” he calls back, feeling like an idiot in front of this small girl. “I don’t have any shoes.”

The girl stops, backtracks half a dozen places, and squints up at him, one hand shielding her eyes.

“Why not?” she asks, her voice a little softer, and far more curious now.

Ben casts around for an answer. “I left in a hurry,” he tells her.

“I can see,” she says, and she points a finger to her own face, tracing a circle in the air.

He must look awful.

“Stay put,” she says after a moment of hesitation. “I think I might have something for you.” She places her goggles back on her head and covers her face with her headscarf again. She mounts her speeder, and in moments shoots off into the distance, leaving a tinny rattle in her wake.

It’s another half hour before she returns, and the sun is past the yard arm now, its heat a little less intense. She slips off of the speeder and pulls one black boot out of the netting hooked to the engine. She tosses it up to him, and Ben winces when he catches it.

“Are you all right?” she asks.

“ _Fine_ ,” he says through gritted teeth, ignoring the blinding pain in his ribs. “Thank you.” He raises the boot to illustrate his gratitude, and she tosses the second one up, though its motion is far gentler this time. He still grunts when he catches it, but it’s not half as bad.

Ben drops the boots into the footwell and jams his feet into them. He pulls at the laces, tying them in rough knots before sitting up and hauling in a deep breath to try and pull focus away from the pain in his chest. Without socks the boots feel weird against his feet. He can feel each seam, each piece of leather digging into his skin in a different way. Underfoot he can feel the inescapable grittiness of sand.

But it’s much better than nothing.

And now he has to get down to the ground.

He grabs the coin purse, lifting his hips off the seat so he can shove it deep into his pocket.

“D’you need a hand?” the girl asks, but Ben’s not sure what she can really do for him. He shakes his head and then hauls himself up, eyes squeezed tight, jaw clenched as he pulls himself up far enough so that he can sit on the edge of the ship. He swings his right leg over the side, and then his left, and leaning against the ship, slides down the chassis until he free falls the final few feet.

His bad ankle flashes with pain when he lands, and he sinks onto all fours, eyes closed, breathing measured, as he tries to focus. A shadow falls over him, and he realises it’s the girl, deliberately standing between him and the sun.

“What’s your name?” he asks, unable to open his eyes just yet.

“Rey,” she says. “What’s yours?”

“Ben.”

“Would you like me to fix your ship, Ben?”

“Yes.”

“It’ll cost you three portions,” she tells him. “But if you go to Unkar Plutt, it’ll probably cost you ten times as much.”

He knows an exaggeration when he hears one, but he doesn’t much care. “Do you take credits?” he asks.

“No,” she laughs. “What would I spend them on?”

Ben opens his eyes, and all he can see is sand. She has a point. But he doesn’t have any portions. So something’s got to give.

“Can I buy portions?” he asks. “With credits?”

Rey nods. “From Unkar Plutt.”

“The guy you said would rip me off,” he replies.

“Yeah,” she says simply, not seeing the flaw in her own sales pitch. “But not as much as he’ll rip off a beat up guy who needs his ship repairing.”

And there it is.

“Fine,” he says. “Is he at the outpost?” He looks towards the dune, and realises he’ll have to loop round it with his ankle in such a state. It’s not the end of the world, but he can think of a hundred other planets where he’d rather be.

Rey nods.

“Get started,” he tells her. “I’ll get you your portions.”

She holds out a hand, and grudgingly he takes it. Her grip is strong, surprisingly so, and she drags him to his feet, holding onto him until he’s steadied himself. The sleeves of his tunic are the worst hit by the staining, and so he rolls them up, hiding the worst of it.

The sand slides under his feet, but he digs his heels in, ignoring the pain, and traipses around the dune. It takes him far longer than he’d like, and he holds up a hand for the entire journey, shielding his eyes from the sun.

When the outpost comes into view, it’s even shabbier than it had looked from the sky. The scattering of huts are cloaked with threadbare fabrics, and there’s a booth with one frail person negotiating hard. This must be where he can find Plutt.

Ben draws himself up to his full height and approaches, pressing his lips together as he forces himself to walk normally with his bad ankle, shielding his limp from unscrupulous eyes. He arrives at the counter as the skinny negotiator is sent on his way, and steps up in front of Plutt.

“I take it you’re Unkar Plutt?”

“Who’s asking?”

“I’d like to buy some portions,” Ben says. “Five portions, to be exact.”

Plutt leans over the counter, and it takes all of Ben’s will power not to recoil from his bulbous face as his dark eyes assess him. Plutt hums thoughtfully to himself, as though Ben’s request is one that stretches the realms of credibility.

“Twenty credits,” he says.

“No.”

Plutt frowns. “Well you’ll go hungry then,” he says.

Ben shakes his head. He’s his father’s son after all. “You and I both know that whatever price we agree is still going to be a huge profit for you. But let’s try to make it a little realistic.”

“Where are you from?” Plutt asks, counting out five vacuum packed portions. He slaps each one down on the counter pointedly, then turns his full attention to Ben.

“That’s not the conversation we’re having,” Ben replies. “Those things are worth no more than half a credit each,” he says. “But I don’t plan on sticking around, so let’s call it five for the lot.”

“Ten,” Plutt bargains.

Ben raises an eyebrow. He can’t afford to fritter these credits away just because it makes life easier. It might be weeks before his injuries are healed sufficiently enough for him to take on work. And depending on where he ends up, finding somewhere to live for that time could cost an arm and a leg.

“Eight,” Plutt says.

“I told you my price.”

“Fine,” Plutt says, and Ben fishes into the coin purse, feeling for a five credit coin. He raises his hand to the counter, coin still tight in his grip. “Five,” Plutt says, and he grabs Ben’s wrist, holding it and the coin in place against his counter, “ _if_ you tell me where you’re from.”

It’s a power play. But Ben doesn’t much care for it.

“Chandrila,” he says, slamming his other hand down on the portions. He drops the coin, and it clatters onto the counter, then he slides the portions off the edge, and shoves them into his pockets.

“Chandrila, hmm?” Plutt muses as he slips the coin into his own enormous money belt. “And is there anything else I can do for you, my Chandrilan friend?”

Ben swallows the stomach acid rising in his throat. He should probably try and figure out where his dad is. Just so he can avoid running into him for the time being. Luke was his best friend. He’d be so…

Ben can’t even consider it.

“Have you heard anything about Han Solo’s whereabouts?”

“So you’re a _bounty_ hunter,” Plutt says, smirking at his wrong assumption. “That explains the face.”

Ben looks into the mucky metal of Plutt’s shutters, but his reflection is blurred and indecipherable. The face doesn’t matter so much. It’s the ribs he’s worried about.

“I’m his _son_ ,” Ben replies pointedly. He doesn’t know why he says it. Perhaps he wants to wipe the smug arrogance from Plutt’s face, or maybe he thinks, deep down, that he could stir up some sympathy, but they’re not the words that he wanted to say. Especially not when Plutt hums with pleasure.

“Oh ho,” Plutt says, his small mouth stretching into a smile. “Yes, the Solo boy…”

Ben is losing patience, and he waves a hand in front of him. “You’ll tell me where Han Solo is.”

Plutt chuckles loudly, his whole body shaking with amusement. “You’ll have to do better than that, boy,” he says. “Your cheap tricks won’t work on me. You’ll have to find a much weaker mind than mine.”

Ben grits his teeth, but says nothing, the heat of humiliation rising in him. He should have known better than to take such a lazy short cut.

“Oh dear. Did the Prince of Alderaan underestimate me?”

Anger, red hot and violent, floods through Ben’s veins. He clenches his fist, and before he knows what’s happening, Plutt falls to his knees, hands scrabbling at his throat. He wheezes as he desperately tries to draw breath, but Ben can’t stop. Not after the taunt. Not after those words had been spat at him so many times, and so often by Ansad.

Fate must have been smiling on him when Ansad’s ship had been parked closest to the temple. It is one last victory against that awful, snide bastard.

“You’ll tell me where Han Solo is,” he says again to Plutt. “Is your _throat_ strong enough to withstand this?” He releases the pressure, just a little, and Plutt drags in a desperate breath.

“I heard he’d been to Little Coruscant recently,” he strains. “But that’s all I know.”

“I’ll have another five portions as well,” Ben tells him. Plutt’s shaking hand shoves the top of the pile towards Ben, and a handful of portion fall over the edge of the counter, landing at Ben’s feet. He releases the pressure again, but then swipes his hand to one side, ripping the consciousness from Plutt. He slumps to the ground, where he should remain for several hours.

Ben crouches down, ignoring the protests of his ankle, and gathers up the portions with trembling hands.

He’s never done anything like that before.

He shouldn’t have done it. He should have been able to control himself, and ignore the call to violence as a means to an end.

His pockets are packed with portions, and he strides back through the market, exchanging a half credit for a canteen of lukewarm water. He swallows a mouthful, and begins the trek back to the ship as the sun dips low in the sky, darkness slowly starting to descend.

When he arrives, he sees the glow of a headlamp, and a pile of discarded twisted parts lying on the sand.

“Did you get struck by lightning?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he tells her.

“I’ve never seen lightning,” she replies. “What’s it like?”

“Fast, I guess,” he says, and he lowers himself gingerly down onto the sand and takes another swig of water. Rey looks over her shoulder at him, the headlamp far too big for her. It slips down, so the bulb rests on the bridge of her nose, and every so often she pushes it back up with her forearm.

She questions him about all sorts while she works — rain, trees, space, how big the galaxy really is. He answers each question in turn patiently, wondering when she last had a conversation with somebody. She reeks of loneliness, but he can’t ask her about it. She’s a kid. And anyway, what could he do about it? He’s got a multitude of problems of his own.

“Do you look like your dad?” she asks.

The question takes him by surprise. But she dusts her hands off and removes her gloves, job complete. She sits down on the sand next to him, and looks across at his face, as though trying to gauge what his dad looks like.

“My dad?” he asks.

“Yeah. I heard people look like their parents. Do you look like your dad?”

The question sets alarm bells ringing in the back of his head, but he concedes to her curiosity all the same. “Yeah a little, I guess,” he tells her. “He’s shorter than me though.”

“Huh,” is all she says.

“And his hair’s much lighter than mine. Well, it’s going grey anyway, but it used to be brown.”

Rey gets up and crosses over to her speeder, pulling more things from the netting. “I’m still listening,” she tells him, unaware that he’s said all he has to say on the matter. “What’s he like?”

Ben sighs. It’s not the conversation he wants to have right now, but she’s just fixed his ship for a pittance. He thinks long and hard, trying to muster something up. “He’s a good pilot,” he tells her. “A _really_ good pilot.” He corrects himself, knowing that he’s doing his dad an injustice if he leaves his description at a mere ‘good’.

“Did he teach you to fly?” Rey dumps herself back down on the ground again, and takes a portion from the pile that has spilled from his pocket. She tears it open with her teeth and begins to make her meal on the little hot plate. “I thought it’d be a long job,” she tells him by way of an explanation.

“Yeah…he taught me,” Ben replies, and she opens a second portion, cooking that ration through too, before dispensing it onto a mostly clean scrap of rear panel in the absence of a plate. She hands it to him, and tips her own food into another scrap, smaller and more blackened from the lightning strike.

She chews loudly and with her mouth open, and that alarm bell in the back of Ben’s head sounds a little louder.

“Won’t your parents be worried about you?” he asks as he picks at his food. “It’s getting late.”

“They’re not here,” she tells him, staring straight ahead at the red glow of the setting sun. “But they’re coming back.”

“When?”

“I don’t know she tells him. But they will.”

Ben’s stomach twists. “How long have they been gone?” he asks tentatively.

“2,283 days,” she tells him. She knows the number off the top of her head, without a moment’s hesitation. He doesn’t know what the rotation is on Jakku, but on Chandrila that’s _years_. They must have left half a lifetime ago.

“Who looks after you?”

“No one,” she tells him. “I’ve got my own place these days.”

Ben raises an eyebrow. “What kind of place?”

“An old AT-AT,” she tells him, and she turns to him with a big triumphant smile. “I’ve got the _whole_ thing to myself. It’s enormous, and it was _loaded_ with parts when I found it. And those boots.” She nods towards Ben’s feet, and his toes curl underneath the leather.

“They’re Imperial boots,” he says softly.

“Yeah,” she says, though the concept doesn’t bother her. He supposes there’s no room for fussiness here. But all the same, it feels like fate has dealt him a cruel joke, making him walk in these shoes which marched for the Empire.

They finish their food in silence, and then Rey gets up and packs away the hot plate. She tosses the old parts into the netting as well, presumably hoping to fix them, and then she climbs up to the cockpit, starting the engines so he can see that the ship’s as good as new.

“Thanks,” says, and he collects up the remaining portions, at least a dozen of them, and holds them out to her.

“I told you three,” she says, eyeing him distrustfully.

“Plutt and I had a heart to heart,” he tells her. “Keep them secret though. Don’t take a vacation, just ‘cause you’ve got food. And don’t eat them all at once or you’ll double in size.” It’s true, even though she’s tall-ish for a kid her age, she’s verging on painfully thin.

“And then I’ll look like Unkar Plutt,” she says, and she blows her cheeks out, scrunching up her nose, but she can only hold it for a few seconds before she dissolves into laughter. He laughs too, and she takes the portions from him, wrapping them into her headscarf and tying them in a secure bundle.

“Thank you,” she says.

“No problem,” he says, and he takes her proffered hand, allowing her to pull him to his feet. “You gonna be okay getting back to that palace of yours?”

“Fine,” she says. “No one travels that way anyway.”

He nods, and pulls himself up to the cockpit. He squeezes his eyes tight shut as a blinding pain obscures his vision, and once he’s made it into the pilot’s seat, he takes a few steadying breaths.

“Are _you_ going to be okay?” she asks, but he waves a dismissive hand, words just a little too much for him while his lungs battle to control his breath.

“Take care, kiddo,” he says, once the world has stopped spinning, and she smiles a toothy smile up at him. He watches as she gets on her speeder and secures her goggles. The little knots in her hair are messy after a long day’s work, and loose strands have fallen from them, dangling down her neck and framing her face. She’s bizarre, but he’s kind of fond of her, even if she does ask too many questions.

The ship stays where it is until long after she has disappeared over the sand dunes. He listens hard in the night, until the buzzing of her speeder fades out of earshot, and then he fires up the engines.

He doesn’t know where to go, but his thoughts still linger on the kid, Rey. She’s so alone. And he can’t imagine what kind of parents would just leave their kid on a dump of a planet like Jakku, fighting to survive every damn day.

His dad would never do that to him. No matter what he’d done. He’s sure of it.

Ben keys in the flight path that will take him to Nar Shaddaa, and the canopy closes over him. The more he thinks on it, the smarter a choice it seems, and at least half of his anxieties fade, now that the decision’s been made.

He spares one last fleeting thought for the kid, wondering if she’s watching him take off from the splendour of her AT-AT, and then he leaves Jakku for the first, and hopefully, the last time.

Whether his dad is on Nar Shaddaa or not, it’s as good a place as any to start looking for him.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s dark, and he lets his senses guide him over the unsteady ground. Night time on Nar Shaddaa apparently doesn’t require any lighting to guide visitors towards the cantina.

Only an idiot would turn up this late anyway.

But Ben, the idiot, traipses over the mismatched paving slabs, lifting his feet a little higher than usual to avoid catching a jutting corner. He doesn’t need to land flat on his face after everything else. If he can get to the cantina he’ll at least be able to find out when his dad was last there. Or when he might be coming back.

He could even maybe leave a message at the bar for him. Depending who’s serving, that is.

A strong hand grips the front of his shirt and hauls him to one side. Ben swears, and then hears the whir of a blaster being primed.

“Empty your pockets,” says a gruff voice.

The blue glow of his lightsaber ignites between them, and Ben frowns down at the grubby, bearded assailant. “Why?” he asks in a flat voice. He doesn’t mention it, but he’s enjoying seeing such a rough and ready face descend into blind panic.

“Shit, it was just a joke pal.” The would-be mugger smoothes Ben’s shirt with his hand before taking a step back. “You’re Han’s boy, right? Beau, isn’t it? It was just a joke, pal.”

Ben inhales, drawing himself up to his full height, nearly two feet taller than this stocky waster. He takes a step forward, his lightsaber illuminating every crease in the man’s face.

“Give me your blaster,” he says quietly.

“Come on pal, I’m mincemeat without —”

“Have you considered not robbing people?” Ben asks. “This is your own fault. Give me your blaster.”

He hands over the blaster with an exaggerated sigh and takes a step back.

“And the other one,” Ben adds, taking another step towards him. “I’ve had a helluva day, so don’t test me. These things are extremely unforgiving.” He tilts the lightsaber, angling it a little closer to the man’s face so that the hum increases in volume. It doesn’t take much more convincing than that.

The man drops down and lifts his pant leg, revealing an ankle holster with a tiny silver blaster. It looks like one of those weird models made for kids — the trigger looks like it could go off with the tiniest squeeze — and as it’s unfastened from its holster, Ben sees a pattern of planets etched into the metal with a laser.

“Cute,” he says, and the man growls as he straightens up and hands the blaster to Ben.

“You’re your father’s son.” He spits at Ben’s feet, but Ben shrugs.

“Probably,” he replies, and with one sharp wave of his hand, the man crumbles to the ground unconscious.

Ben stumps towards the hazy glow of the cantina, satisfied that he won’t be bothered again. The two new blasters bang against his hip as he walks, and he adds a holster or two to the list of things he needs to acquire. He doesn’t want to whip out his lightsaber at every tiny run in. It’s like taking a battle cannon to a fist fight.

And besides, he doesn’t want to be traced by it. The last thing he needs is a reputation, especially if his name’s on a list after what happened at the temple. After what happened to Luke...

The door to the cantina is heavy, and he has to lean his shoulder against it to get it to shift. His ribs twinge at the weight of it, but when the gap is big enough he sidles through. It’s quiet — it’s late after all — and only a few seedy types are loitering around mucky tables drinking from grimy cups.

But then he looks towards the bar and recognises the back of the man leaning against it.

“If you see him you tell him he’s not in trouble, will you promise me that? I’m worried about him — Leia and I just want him home.”

The bartender listens while wiping out a cup with a dirty cloth. When he tosses her a ten credit coin she catches it deftly in her hand.

“Spread the word will ya, Gella? Please? Just tell him it’s all right.”

She tosses the coin back to him, and he catches it. “Tell him yourself,” and she nods over his shoulder to Ben, who is frozen to the spot.

His dad turns around, his face sagging in relief as he lays eyes on Ben.

“It’s okay,” he says gently, and he walks towards Ben slowly, almost warily. It hurts. But after what he’s done, Ben can hardly blame him.

“Dad,” his voice cracks, and from deep within him a tidal wave of emotion swells up, prickling his eyelids. “I’m so sorry.”

In an instant he’s in his dad’s arms, stooping to rest his head against his dad’s shoulder, sobbing into his weatherbeaten leather jacket. His dad cups the back of his head, hand gripping his hair to hold him close.

“It’s okay,” he says, in as soft a tone as his gruff voice will allow. “Kid, it’s all okay.”

But it’s _not_ okay. Luke’s dead, and it’s all his fault, and even though he cannot fathom the circumstances which led to all of this, he’s still the one that killed his uncle and ran. But he can’t tell his dad any of this. His throat is clogged and all he can do is cry and cry, all of the stress and fear pouring out of him as he is accepted without reprimand, without demands for explanations.

People must already know, if his dad is trying to find him before the authorities do. But what can he do? What can his mother do? Nothing. He’s destroyed her political career, surely. Only his dad can help him run from all of this.

If that’s even the plan.

But the more he thinks about it the more he upsets himself, but his dad issues soothing words, holding him tightly — too tightly for his cracked ribs — and eventually Ben is able to regain a little composure.

His dad guides him towards a table, and when he notices Ben’s limp he takes him firmly by the arm to bear some of his weight. Ben’s spent so long on the island that he’s forgotten what it’s like to have someone take care of him.

Ben collapses onto the seat and slides around the table so his dad can sit on the end.

“Where’s Chewie?” Ben asks in a broken voice.

“He was out when I left. Didn’t have time to wait,” his dad says gruffly. “I left him a message to check out some of the other cantinas. You know, spread the word. Try and find you in case you did anything stupid.”

He doesn’t ask for the definition of stupid. But he understands the picture entirely.

“Who told you?” he asks in a quiet voice.

“Luke did,” his dad replies.

The words knock the wind out of him. “But I killed Luke,” he whispers.

His dad’s eyes widen and he grips Ben’s wrist. “No, you didn’t. Hell, is that what you thought?”

“ _Yeah_.”

His dad lets out a sigh and leans back in his seat. At that moment the Gella comes over with a cup of ale and another of hot tea.

“I think I’m gonna need another one of those,” his dad says, glancing towards Gella as he takes the ale. Her lips twitch and she saunters back to the bar, her battered tray hanging limply in her grip.

“Luke’s _fine_ ,” his dad says, waving a dismissive hand. “He’s a little shaken up but he’ll get over it.”

Ben frowns. “Did he tell you what happened?”

“Yeah, briefly,” his dad replies, then takes a sip of his ale. “Look, kid, we all know you get those shitty dreams, you freaked, it’s fine. We just wanna take good care of you, all right?”

“No,” Ben murmurs.

His dad opens his mouth to respond, but at the sight of Ben’s face he falters, the words dying in his throat.

Ben tells him what happened, closing his eyes as he tries to recount the events in the right order. When he tells his dad about Luke standing over his bed with his lightsaber drawn, his eyes flash, but he presses his lips together, waiting for Ben to finish telling his version of events.

He lets out a long breath, finger and thumb rotating his cup on the surface of the table as he processes the information.

“Lightsaber drawn, huh?”

Ben nods.

“Well,” Han says, and he pauses to drain the last of his ale. “He’s one of my best friends, he’s your uncle, and he should know better. So frankly if that’s what happened and you _had_ killed him, you’d hear no arguments from me, kid.”

“ _Dad_.” The words don’t exactly help.

“Are you sure it wasn’t part of your dream?” he asks. “Because I believe that’s what you saw and I’m not questioning it. But if Luke tried to...I dunno. But if it was that serious I need to know it was for _real_.”

His dad thinks he’s going crazy. And maybe he is. Why would Luke come in his hut and try to kill him? Why would he do that?

But he so clearly remembers waking up. He remembers his face. He remembers the clash of their lightsabers.

“It was real,” he tells him softly, and then nods to reaffirm the point.

“Okay,” his dad says, and he pushes his tea towards him. “Okay.”

Ben expects further questions, but they don’t come. His dad gets up from the table, squeezes his shoulder, and then slips his jacket around him.It’s not until now that Ben realises that the near empty cantina is chilly, goose pimples raised on his skin. His dad heads over to the bar, talks with Gella briefly while Ben sips his tea, and then returns a few minutes later.

“We’ll get some food before we go back.”

Ben doesn’t feel like eating but he doesn’t protest.

“Do you want to go home?”

Ben looks up from his tea and frowns. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

His dad shakes his head. “Never,” he says. “I’m asking if you _want_ to go home.”

Ben shakes his head, and his dad accepts his answer without argument.

“Do you want to speak to mom?”

No. Not that either. He can’t face her. This whole thing is painful and confusing and he can’t help but trace it back to when she sent him away as a tiny kid. Much younger than the girl who fixed his ship a few hours ago. Though she seems to be doing fine on her own. He’s not made of the same stuff apparently.

His dad accepts the shake of Ben’s head again, though this time it is with a breath of reluctance.

“I don’t wanna be a Jedi,” Ben murmurs. “I don’t want any of it. I don’t know that I ever really...” He props his elbows on the table and buries his face in his hands. His brain is like a battlefield, thoughts flitting around without ever taking time to stop.

“You don’t have to be anything you don’t want to,” his dad says, and he slings an arm around Ben’s shoulders, pulling him against his side.

Their food arrives, and it’s hardly the most appetising thing Ben has ever seen. His dad eats as though he’s skipped at least two meals, which he might well have, but Ben just picks at his own plate, tearing off small chunks of bread and chewing them halfheartedly.

Through the grimy window, he can see the sky begin to lighten. The darkness is penetrated by a pale light on the edge of the horizon, and as his food grows cold, the light seeps into the sky, a new day dawning.

“Back to the Falcon?” his dad asks.

Ben nods, and takes his dad’s hand, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. He hobbles out of the cantina, his arm around his dad’s shoulders for support, and they begin the slow walk back to the docking bay.

“I see Rontu’s had a bad night,” his dad says, nodding towards the figure slumped by the side of the street.

“He tried to rob me,” Ben replies quietly, then adds for good measure: “He’s just unconscious.”

His dad lets out a bark of laughter. “You’re having a heckuva day, kid.” He ruffles Ben’s hair, and they enter the hangar.

“How d’you get here?” his dad asks.

Ben gestures to Ansad’s ship. “I took that from the temple.”

“How the hell d’you fit in there?” His dad frowns at the narrow cockpit, then looks towards Ben as though trying to measure him up.

“Uncomfortably,” he replies, and another ‘ _ha!_ ’ of laughter sounds. It feels good to be with his dad again. To have these trivial conversations that are so light that they lift some of the weight from his shoulders.

“Well we’ll leave that piece of trash here,” his dad says. “Come on, let’s get you fixed up.”

They ascend the ramp, and as soon as Ben’s on board, the knot of anxiety in his stomach loosens. He’s home — if you can call a ship home. His dad eases him onto one of the bunks and goes to fetch a med pack. While he waits, Ben kicks off the Imperial boots, which have left irritable red welts on his skin, tracing the pattern of the boots. His toes are cold, but he should have a couple of changes of clothes on board. He could do with a shower, more than anything, but when he pulls up his pant leg a few inches, he can see that his ankle is swollen, a dark purple bruise blooming under the skin.

His dad returns, and when he sees Ben’s feet he swears.

“What?” Ben lifts his good leg, bending it at the knee so he can see the sole of his foot. It’s streaked with blood and mud, cuts littered across the pale skin.

No wonder it hurt so much to walk. All he can say is a soft ‘oh’, before letting go of his leg and returning it to its former position. His dad gives him a look, but sets about cleaning his feet. It stings — antiseptic seeping into the cuts — but soon his ankle is bandaged into a supportive position, and his dad has found him a pair of warm socks.

“I’m really glad you came to find me,” his dad says, one hand resting on Ben’s shin as he perches at the end of the bunk. “I was worried about ya, kid.”

“I’m sorry.”

His dad shakes his head. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. We’ll straighten everything out with Luke, find out what the heck was going on —”

“I don’t want to see Luke —”

“And you don’t _have to_ ,” his dad says. “That’s fine. But we need to know why this happened. I gotta be honest, kid. I’m holding out for a misunderstanding, I really am.”

Ben’s holding out for that too. Any alternative is too terrible to bear. But he can’t reconcile what he saw, only yesterday, in the dead of night with any possible accident or miscommunication. Rule number one — you should only draw your lightsaber if you intend to use it.

So what was his intention?

“Get some sleep,” his dad says gruffly. “I’ll see if we can pick up Chewie somewhere.” He squeezes Ben’s shin softly and gets up from the bunk, but a blind panic floods into Ben’s chest.

It’s hard to breathe, and his shoulders stiffen as he shakes his head. “I don’t wanna sleep,” he chokes out, and he pushes himself off the bunk, wincing as he stands and puts weight on his ankle.

“All right, all right,” his dad takes him by the arm. He leads him down the corridor, stopping short of the bathroom. “Get yourself cleaned up,” he says. “I’ll get you some clothes, and then I’ll see you in the cockpit, all right?”

Ben nods. It’s a far better plan. His heart rate slowly returns to normal as he scrubs every last fleck of mud and blood from his body. When he gets out of the shower, he finds a neatly folded pile of familiar clothes on the bench, and he dresses carefully, every movement eliciting at least one, if not several, sharp pains.

In the mirror he sees the gash on his elbow, which has since scabbed over. His shirt sleeve catches against it, and so he clumsily bandages that too. He can feel the engines of the ship humming beneath his feet, but his dad is being uncommonly cautious with their flight. It hardly feels like they’re moving at all, but when he gets to the cockpit, he can see through the viewport that they’ve left Nar Shaddaa’s atmosphere, an infinite stretch of black lying ahead of them.

Ben sinks into the co-pilot’s seat and gingerly lifts his foot onto the console in the hope of easing the swelling. His dad tosses a blanket over to him, and Ben spreads it across himself, watching with tired eyes as the stars lengthen and they make the jump to light speed.


	4. Chapter 4

He’s running in the darkness, stones slipping under his feet. His breath burns in his chest, but fogs in the icy cold air around him. Goose pimples raise on his skin, cold sweat soaking his shirt as he tries to flee.

But the darkness presses in on him. It gets thicker and thicker and he can’t see where he’s going. It hardly matters because there’s nowhere _to_ go. In every direction there is a crushing blackness that weighs on him, until it forces him to his knees, his head bowed under the pressure.

He holds his hands in front of him, pale in the darkness, but then his veins blacken, the colour spreading up his arms like a poison. It pours into him, every inch, and he scratches at his arms to try and get it out, but his skin is cold and hard like stone.

_You are delaying the inevitable, my young apprentice._

Ben braces himself against the ground and tries to force himself up. He manages to get one foot under himself, but when he attempts to stand it’s like the ceiling is pressing down upon him. He pushes against it, grunting as he struggles to break free, and then that horrible, croaking voice sears into his consciousness again.

_Skywalker will kill try to kill you when next he sees you. You must be prepared. Join me, and I’ll teach you the true ways of the Force._

“ _No_ ,” Ben chokes out, but the word is muffled by the darkness. His throat is tight, as though an invisible hand is squeezing it, but he tries to take a step forward in his bowed form all the same. It’s like wading through mud, and his feet stick to the floor against his will.

He drops, and then he is up to his neck in darkness, struggling to stay afloat as a weight around his ankles drags him down. He claws at the black, but he can’t get any purchase, can’t keep himself above it.

It seeps into his mouth and nose as he is pulled down into its depths, and his lungs burn even more fiercely.

This is how he will die. Alone and in the dark.

He is wrenched into consciousness, shaking and sweating, his breaths coming in deep uneven gasps. His dad is gripping him by his damp shirt, and before the world can come into focus, Ben lurches towards the side of the bunk, and vomits all over the floor.

His dad squeezes his shoulder then disappears for a moment, then returns with a canteen of water and a damp cloth. Ben wipes his face roughly with the cloth and then unscrews the cap of the canteen with trembling hands. The water is cold and makes his stomach clench, but he sinks back against his pillows and looks up at the top of the bunk. He doesn’t want to see his dad’s face. Ben doesn’t want him to realise just how far gone he is.

His dad cleans up the mess quietly while Ben intermittently dabs his faces with the cloth. His shirt is drenched with sweat, his mouth burning from the acid and bile. When order is restored, his dad sits on the edge of the bunk and beckons Ben forward. He obeys the command, and finds himself wrapped in a hug. His dad kisses the side of his head, and continues to hold him until his heart rate has returned to normal.

It doesn’t make the prospect of sleep any easier to deal with, but at least he knows that if things get bad, his dad will wake him up.

“That bad huh?”

Ben nods, looking down into his lap. He takes a sip of water, and swallowing it down is hard. Shame is creeping through him, shining a spotlight on his weaknesses.

If he were stronger, this wouldn’t be happening.

“We’ll see if we can get you checked out somewhere,” his dad tells him. “See if there’s anything to be done.”

Ben opens his mouth, but his dad holds up a hand.

“Nothing scary, nothing dangerous. Just see if someone can help you. I promise.”

But some things are out of his dad’s control. Some things are even out of his mother’s control. “What if they think I’m dangerous?” he mumbles. “What if they wanna lock me up?”

“They’ll have a hard time locking you up with my blaster shoved up their —”

The console bleeps, and Ben turns his head in the direction of the cockpit.

“Thanks Dad,” he says, as his dad slips from the bunk, one hand still resting on Ben’s shoulder.

“I’ve got you, kid. Always.”

He disappears towards the cockpit, and Ben rids himself of his blanket. He swings his legs out of the bunk, and when he stands, they feel like jelly. The soles of his feet smart, but his ankle feels a little better after a few hours in the cockpit and a few hours in his bunk.

Ben hobbles towards the cockpit and sees the leafy landscape of Takodana beneath them. The Falcon sweeps towards the ground, landing softly on the earth.

“Get yourself ready,” his dad says, and Ben follows orders. He brushes his teeth for twice as long as usual, trying to get rid of the aftertaste, and then he finds a clean shirt and pulls it on. He opts for two pairs of socks, for a little extra cushioning and support, and it makes his boots a little tight, but it’s trade-off he’s willing to make. He runs a hand through his hair then glances into the mirror.

He looks terrible. But presentable.

He rubs at the dark circles under his eyes, as though it will help send them on their way, but it only serves to make his eyes feel dry. He closes them for a few seconds, holding out his hand so his fingertips can steady him against the wall. The last day or so has thrown him off balance, and he doesn’t trust himself not to topple over.

When he opens his eyes, he grabs his belt and hooks his blaster onto it. He still needs a holster. His eyes land on the lightsaber, sitting on the tiny desk in his room, and he makes the decision there and then.

Ben shoves it to the back of his storage locker, then heads out into the corridor and down the ramp to where his dad is waiting. He hands him a staff, and Ben takes it, the metal cold against his palm as he closes his hand around it.

They trudge towards Maz’s castle, enter through the gates, and then with uneven steps, Ben climbs the stairs to the door while his dad waits at the top. His staff clunks against the stone, and by the time he joins his dad, the doors hiss open, and he’s hit with a gust of ale and incense.

The music filters through to his hears, soft background noise to ensure all conversations remain private. It’s still fairly early in the day, and so no one’s too rowdy just yet. But one enormous guy is slumped in an armchair, and probably has been since the previous night.

His ears attune to the hum of conversation while his eyes adjust to the dim light. It’s always so difficult to tell the time in here, but, he supposes, that’s probably how Maz likes it. Ale flowing every hour of the day and night, and there’s always a game of Dejarik to be had. When he looks over to the table, he sees Chewie, hunched over a game with a squat, hard nosed woman. His dark eyes travel from piece to piece, assessing the options for his next play.

A shrill whistle issues from his dad’s lips, aided by a thumb and forefinger. He raises a hand in Chewie’s direction, announcing their arrival, and Chewie gets up, gestures for his opponent to leave the board exactly as it is, then weaves his way through the tables to them.

As soon as he’s within arm’s reach, he pulls Ben into a tight hug, guttural wails echoing out of his throat. His fur scratches at Ben’s face, and his ribs are crying out, but for Chewie this is a gentle hug, and he’s not sure anything less overwhelming is possible.

_Are you okay? What happened?_

“Not now,” his dad says, waving a hand that clearly says ‘tone it down’.

Chewie pulls away and looks down at Ben with warm brown eyes.

 _Are you okay?_ he repeats.

Ben nods, and Chewie seems satisfied. “Go finish your game,” he tells him. “We’ll be here a while yet, I think.”

Chewie nods and heads back. In the intervening time, he must have decided on his move because he makes it straight away, much to the displeasure of his challenger.

Ben and his dad slide into a booth, and soon Ben sees a tray of three drinks travelling between the tables. Its bearer comes into view and Maz places the tray down on the table and slips into the seat next to Ben.

“That was fast,” she says, looking towards his dad.

“He found me on Nar Shaddaa,” his dad replies, taking one of the beverages from the tray. Maz passes one to Ben, and takes the last for herself. When she turns to him, she looks up at him with magnified eyes. He always seems to forget the effect of her lenses, and how much they make him feel like he’s under a microscope.

“Should I be offended that you didn’t come here first?” she asks. “You went to Nar Shaddaa when you could have come here to hang out with me?”

“Lay off,” his dad says, with an unusual firmness not normally used with Maz. “He’s had a rough couple days. You know that little gutter worm Rontu tried to rob him?”

“Well,” Maz says, patting Ben’s arm with her long fingers. “I’m sure he handled himself quite well.”

His dad gives a hum of disapproval then takes another sip of his drink. Ben takes a sip of his, and the citrus flavour helps to get rid of the last of the nasty aftertaste at the back of his throat. Soon food arrives, and he’s a little bit hungrier than he was last night. He eats carefully, choosing only the things that’s he’s halfway sure will stay down.

Maz and his dad talk idly for a while, until his dad excuses himself and goes to talk to some friends or business associates that Ben doesn’t recognise. He’s been out of the loop for so long, on that island, or travelling with Luke. He has no idea what’s going on in his dad’s life anymore.

“The dreams are bad then?” Maz asks.

Ben nearly chokes on his food. She rubs his back as he coughs it up, then nudges his drink a little closer.

“Who told you about those?” he asks weakly between sips.

“The shadows under your eyes,” she replies, her small mouth curving into a sad smile.

It makes sense, though Ben wishes he weren’t so easily readable. They’re the last thing he ever wants to talk about, with anyone. Let alone with Maz, when it’s been years since he’s seen her.

“Dad wants someone to check me out,” he says. “But if they find out what’s in my head…”

Maz places her hand on top of his, stopping his anxieties before he can fully vocalise them.

“I’ll speak to Han,” she says. “I don’t think there’s anyone who can help you these days. This is the Force, we’re talking about, not paranoia or delusion.”

Ben’s heart sinks. Even though his apprehension at being ‘checked out’ had been sky high, there had been a tiny part of him that was hopeful for a solution. But Maz has snuffed that out in one observation. The only Jedi left with any level of wisdom is Luke. And Luke’s not safe.

“You should still try to sleep though,” Maz tells him gently. “Face your fear. The exhaustion will make it worse. It will leave you vulnerable.”

Ben frowns. “You’re saying to avoid having bad dreams I should…sleep more?”

Maz gives him a look, her thin lips pursed at the underlying sarcasm in his tone. “I’m _saying_ , Snoke doesn’t attack you when you’re awake. When you’re in control, and mentally strong. He waits until you’re vulnerable. If you get into a regular sleeping pattern, you’ll be less exhausted when you do sleep, and your mental barriers will be much stronger.”

Ben says nothing, but takes a sip of his drink. She has a point. But the thought of going to sleep makes him feel sick with fear. Even last night, after he’d fallen asleep in the cockpit, when he’d woken and his dad had told him to get some proper sleep in his bunk, he’d not been able to stop his stomach from twisting in fear.

“I know it scares you,” she says softly. “But we all have to face up to our fears one way or another. Better sooner than later.”

“I just…” he draws a line in the condensation on the side of his cup, then rubs the moisture between his thumb and forefinger. “I’m just scared that one day he’s going to get me.”

“He can’t get you in your dreams, sweetheart. No matter how real they might feel.”

Ben knows that. Deep down. But that’s not what he’s worried about. He’s worried that this is just a diversion, that eventually he’ll end up bending the knee to Snoke, one way or another. It’s like he’s looming in the distance, and whichever route Ben takes, he’s there waiting at the end of it.

“He keeps talking about my _destiny_.”

At this, Maz lets out a laugh. It’s not the sound he’d expected, nor is it the most comforting thing in the world. “ _Destiny_ ,” she says distastefully. “You know you’re big enough and clever enough to choose your _own_ destiny, right?”

The word ‘destiny’ gets thrown around a lot at the temple. Sometimes earnestly, sometimes with a sense of abstractness, and sometimes followed by bouts of laughter. But he’s not at the temple anymore. All the same…

“He just feels so inevitable,” Ben tells her. He can’t look at her, he won’t see her focus those lenses even more on him. But he hears the soft ratcheting sound as she adjusts them, and when she doesn’t say anything he’s forced to look, his will power crumbling.

“He wants you,” she says. “No doubt. And you might have to face that one day. But just because he _wants_ you, it doesn’t mean he can _have_ you.”

It feels to him that Snoke will always get what he wants in the end, and when he voices this to Maz, she shakes her head, her magnified eyes bright and imploring.

“No,” she says. “Sweetheart, _no_. Wanting does not automatically lead to having. _Ever_. There are plenty of things I want. I want that handsome Wookiee of yours to take me out to dinner, but does it happen? _No_.”

Ben can’t help the small breath of laughter that escapes him. His ribs burn at the movement, and he shifts in his seat to straighten up.

“Some things, we just can’t _have_ ,” Maz continues. “And Snoke is going to have to learn one way or another that he can’t have _you_.”

“Thanks Maz,” he says. It helps, really and truly. She’s a thousand years old and she’s seen wars flare and fade time after time. She’s seen the Sith and Jedi battle it out over generations. If she’s telling him he has a chance, he’s going to believe her. And so he wants to tell her more, wants to test the water, see what she thinks of his decisions.

And so he tells her about giving it all up. Of staying with his dad and turning his back on the ways of the Jedi. He can’t live by such a binary code with Snoke’s presence inside him. And maybe, just maybe, if he shuts himself off from the Force, if his powers dwindle, Snoke will lose interest.

Maz listens intently, humming every so often as he stumbles over his thoughts, or gets caught on the same point and repeats it three times in slightly different ways. He opens up to her in a way that he struggles to with his family — even with his dad.

She didn’t send him away as a kid.

“I don’t think you’re going to shut yourself off,” she tells him. “And I don’t think your powers are going to go anywhere. At this stage, it’s not about practice anymore. You’ve got it, you can handle it, but you’re choosing not to. That’s a very responsible decision.”

He can sense a ‘but’ way before it lands. She’s set him up with a measured response, and his stomach clenches as he awaits the next part.

“Those thoughts in your head don’t make you a bad person. They’re Snoke’s, and despite all of it, despite him trying to seduce you for years, here you are, both feet planted firmly in the light.”

It still hasn’t arrived. The word.

“You’re a good boy Ben. And perhaps you’re better off away from it all. But —”

There it is.

“— these things have a way of dragging us back in. So don’t stray too far. Don’t get too comfortable. Or he’ll catch you off guard.”

Ben nods and lets the words settle. She’s probably right. He’ll keep his lightsaber at the back of his locker. Out of sight and out of mind. He’ll follow her advice and try and be _less tired_ when he sleeps, if that’s even possible, and he’ll keep one ear to the ground in case things start shifting.

No more than that. And no less. The rest is his own life to live.

“You know,” Maz says. “Whatever happens between here and forever, your dad will always take care of you. Your mother will always take care of you. And you know _I’ll_ always take care of you. Believe me Ben, you will always have _someone_ to turn to. No matter what happens.”

His throat clogs with emotion, and all he can do is nod. In his heart of hearts he has always known it, but hearing it said out loud with such calm certainty is a different thing altogether. Maz squeezes his hand, and before he can thank her, she’s slipped from the booth to serve a rowdy crowd of smugglers from the Outer Rim.

That night, he dreams. It’s awful, but he sleeps through it, and wakes to the hum of the Falcon’s engines. He’s a little sweaty, and a little disoriented, but he’s slept for nearly six hours — a longer stretch than he can ever remember having in his life.

He sits up, and something patters lightly onto his bunk. He climbs out, taking the blanket with him. Sand spills from it — it’s littered all over the mattress, and now the floor too. A good handful has been dispersed across his bunk, but he can’t figure out for the life of him where it could have come from. He supposes it could have come from Jakku, but surely he’d have noticed it before now. He has been distracted though. There’s been a lot going on.

Ben brushes the sand from his mattress and thinks no more of it.


	5. Chapter 5

Adjusting to a sleeping pattern is hard.

There’s a rigidity to it, that his dad enforces after Ben had told him of Maz’s advice. Regardless of where they are, or what they’re doing, he’s back to having a bedtime. If it weren’t so vital, it’d be infantilising.

They stay on board the Falcon for a few days, and his dad runs short errands, that usually wind up with them eating in some cantina in the evening and heading back to the ship by ten. By ten thirty, he’s usually staring at the ceiling of his bunk while the engines hum, tapping his fingers against the blanket as he waits for sleep to claim him.

When it does, he succumbs to it, rather than fighting for every last second of consciousness. Somehow, hearing his dad tinkering with the ship nearby, adding some new mod or upgrading a part, allows him to slip away more peacefully.

He still wakes with a start most mornings. But it _is_ morning, and he supposes that’s the point. Within a week of seeing Maz, he’s managed to clock up more sleep sleep than he’s had in a month, with one night seeing eight solid hours tick by before he’d been flung back into the world of consciousness.

He’s still wary though. And there’s still a prickle of dread that pulls at his insides while he lays there in the dark. He still watches the time tick over to ten o’clock with crescendoing anxiety. But he forces himself through it.

Tonight, he’s forcing himself through it on Hosnian Prime, tossing and turning his bed. They’re in one of the senate suites, and the door is open half an inch to let the golden glow of the lights in the main suite illuminate his room.

But it also means he can hear voices. His dad’s voice. And _her_ voice.

“I just want to see him,” she says. “I won’t wake him. I just want to make sure he’s all right.”

“Leave him be until the morning,” his dad says softly. “If you wake him up it’ll take him forever to get back to sleep.”

Ben’s aware that he could go out there right now, grant his mother her wish, and then retreat to his bed having put a stop to the discussion. But something is holding him back. It anchors him beneath his blankets, paralysing him as he lays there on his side, his legs drawn up towards his chest.

She sent him away in the first place. And it’s only now that everything’s gone to hell that she wants him back.

He’s not sure he wants to see her. At all.

It’s an awful realisation. But it was her decision, and her brother, and now here they are, all paying the price for it.

It must have been an easy answer to the demands of her political career. The thought is vicious, and probably unfair, but there’s an underlying sense of truth to it. Of course he’d been excited about going away to learn how to be a Jedi Knight. He was a kid for crying out loud, what kid wouldn’t go in for that?

But she should have known better. She should have realised what kind of life it would be. She chose not to follow through on her own training, and then decided to send him away anyway.

It doesn’t make _sense_.

“Well when are you both coming home?” It’s his mother again, and she sounds deflated. There is the chink of a cup and he realises she must be drinking tea. He’d forgotten that particular evening habit of hers. He’s been away for so long.

“Leia, honey,” there’s a soft puff of a cushion as his dad sits down. “He doesn’t _want_ to come home.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, home’s the best place for him.”

But even as she says it, Ben can detect the uncertainty in her voice. She wants to keep a close eye on him, sure. But if Snoke really and truly has his heart set on finding him, surely the best thing is for him to stay on the move, flitting from planet to planet with his dad, picking up odd jobs here and there.

“He wants out. From all of it, and you know, he’s a smart kid. I think this is the smartest decision he’s ever made —”

“You never _wanted_ him to be a Jedi,” his mother snaps. She sets down her cup too hard on the table, and a shrill rattle of a teaspoon rings out after the thud.

“Well _look where we’re at_ ,” his dad replies, frustrated, slow, and dripping with sarcasm. “Snoke’s on his tail, _Luke_ tried to _kill him_. You’re not going to sit there and tell me that’s not a big fucking problem, are you?”

His mother doesn’t say anything for a moment, but the words that eventually follow are soft. “I always believed, and I still _do_ , that the best chance he has against Snoke is being one with the Force himself. Of having a power that is equal to Snoke’s, or at least gives him a fighting _chance_.”

“I know,” his dad says.

Ben rolls over, his back towards the door. He doesn’t want to hear any more of this. He doesn’t want to hear how his parents have strategised his survival, purely because he’s of Skywalker stock. It’s ludicrous. It’s _unfair_.

“He should be at home, with his family,” his mother sighs.

“That’s not what he wants,” his dad replies. “And right now, my priority is to keep him safe, to make sure he’s as happy as he can be. And if that means we’re away for a while, or even _indefinitely_ , then that’s it.”

“You’re just going to leave and never come back?” his mother asks incredulously.

“I’m saying that I’m _not_ compromising. Not when it comes to him. Not _ever_.” His dad lets out a long sigh. “He’s so fragile Leia, if you’d seen him…you wouldn’t compromise either.” His voice is hoarse, the words barely filtering through the gap in Ben’s door, but despite his unwillingness to hear the conversation, Ben finds himself listening harder, his ears straining to pick up even the slightest sound or movement.

“Han…”

“Let’s go to bed,” his dad says. “You’ll see him in the morning.”

“But —”

“The second he changes his mind I’ll bring him home. But the kid’s traumatised. We _have_ to let him go at his own pace.”

Those words are the final ones, and Ben hears both of them get up from the couch, their muffled footsteps against the thickly carpeted floor, and then the click of the bedroom door as it closes behind them.

He lays there for a while in the dark, trying to figure out some way to please both of them. But the thought of home makes him sick to his stomach. It’s not even _his_ home. They’ve moved half a dozen times since he was born, and at least four times since he left to train with Luke. There’s no such thing as home. Not for him.

Except maybe the Falcon. That’s been a constant. He knows that ship like the back of his hand, and more than that, he can go anywhere in it. A house that’s unfamiliar and static will bring him nothing but anxiety. But in the Falcon he can run. He could be on Dantooine one day and Coruscant the next. The possibilities are endless.

He thinks about all the planets that he could visit with his dad, and as cityscapes blur into forests blur into coastlines, the night claims him.

When he wakes the next morning, there is sand in his bed.

* * *

She hugs him too tightly around the middle, crushing his ribs. He lets out an involuntary hiss and she pulls her arms away from him, taking a step back as her brow creases into a deep frown.

“What’s up?” she asks.

“Broken ribs,” his dad says gruffly. “From when he was escaping the temple.” His tone suggests that the debate has reignited this morning, that they’re now in a points scoring stage and he’s just racked up a comfortable lead.

“Do you need to go to a med centre?” his mother asks quietly, looking up at him with sad eyes.

Ben shakes his head. “I’m fine,” he mumbles. He moves over to the window, looking down at the city below. Before they head back to the Falcon, he should spend some of Ansad’s credits on some supplies. Most of his clothes were back at the temple, his calligraphy set too. If he’s starting afresh he might as well do it properly. He’s been wearing his dad’s old jacket since Nar Shaddaa, forced to roll back the sleeves lest anyone see how laughably short they are on him. It doesn’t do up, either, but they’ve not gone anywhere cold enough for that to matter yet.

In the window, he can see the faint reflection of his mother as she draws up alongside him. The click of the door suggests that his dad has decided to go down to get some breakfast.

“What do you want to do?” she asks.

His stomach twists as a thousand answers flit through his head. “I don’t wanna come home,” he replies softly. “If that’s what you’re asking.”

A deep sigh escapes her, and she reaches across for his hand, squeezing it gently with her own. “Ben, if I’d have known —”

“It can’t be helped,” he says coolly. He doesn’t want to hear what ifs. They’re of no use to him. He doesn’t want to be fought over either, stuck in an eternal tug of war between her and his dad.

But equally he doesn’t want to split them up. And even if it’s been coming for a while, he doesn’t want to be the final straw. He doesn’t want to light the fire that burns their relationship to the ground once and for all.

But his dad is set in his ways. He’s made his decision, and unless anyone can prove to him otherwise, he’ll stick with it until it becomes apparent that it’s a bad decision. He won’t be swayed. For that, Ben is eternally grateful. He’s not sure he has the energy or the desire to argue with his mother. But his dad has been doing it for nearly twenty-five years. It’s second nature to him.

And sometimes, he even gets his way.

“Will you come home when you’re ready?” she asks, looking across at him. “I’ve missed you.”

“Sure,” is all he can say, knowing full well that there may never be a day when he’s ready. He stands there for a little longer, and her hand in his feels much smaller than he remembers it. The longer he stays there, the more stifling the room gets, and he makes his excuses about needing to pick some things up. She accepts without argument, and watches him sadly as he disappears from the suite.

He grabs a couple of pastries from the dining hall and wraps them in a napkin. He can see his dad, eating breakfast with Chewie in the far corner, away from all the hot air issuing from the senators as they get into their debates before the day has really begun.

His dad looks up, and Ben gestures that he’s going out for a bit. His dad points to himself, and then to the door.

_Do you want me to come with you?_

Ben waves a hand, telling him not to worry. He grabs a canteen of water from the table, slips it into the pocket of his too small jacket, and heads for the door.

The streets are busy, and so many people in such a tight space has him on edge. It’s noisy too, a cacophony of chatter and engines as ships come and go overhead. Ben vows to make quick work of the trip, and dives into the first clothing store he finds to get away from the crowds.

He picks out a handful of shirts, a few pairs of pants, then hunts high and low for the right jacket. When he finds it, it’s black, made of a thick leather, and has plenty of pockets both inside and out. He tries it on, and it fits him across the shoulders, the cuffs hitting just the right point on his wrists.

No more rolled sleeves for him.

Ben picks out a holster too, also black, and then dumps the entire hoard down on the counter. It’s a lot, but then Ansad’s coins are burning a hole in his pocket. He wants rid of them as soon as possible, so he doesn’t have to spare a single thought for the little twerp ever again.

He grabs a rucksack from a nearby display and dumps it on top of everything else. The clerk looks at him, and then looks at everything on his counter, and wordlessly tots it up on his register, folding each item and placing it carefully in the rucksack.

The spend takes care of a good chunk of credits, and as Ben hauls the rucksack onto his shoulders he asks the clerk, “Is there a stationer’s nearby?”

“Four blocks over, take a left. Keep walking past the armoury and the jeweller’s.” His voice is monotonous, as though all the joy has been bored out of him.

Ben thanks him and leaves the store. He follows instructions, and winds up at a stationer’s as promised. His eyes linger on the prices as he pulls together a half decent collection of quills and ink. He has enough to buy some gold ink, but does he really need it? Is he just getting it for the novelty? He picks it up and puts it back down at least three times, then tries the tester to see if it will sway him either way.

He still can’t decide, and so he moves on to notebooks, finding a couple of leather bound ones that will serve him well.

When his rucksack is topped up with ink and quills and notebooks, Ben heads for the senate docking bay. He doesn’t want to be here any longer, and the sooner they can leave the hustle and bustle of Republic City, the better. His heart rate is still elevated, and it’s not until he climbs the ramp of the Falcon that it starts to return to normal.

It’s a few hours before his dad returns to find him sitting at the table, drawing constellations in gold ink.

“You’re not even going to say goodbye to her?” he asks.

Ben doesn’t say anything.

“It’s not her fault, you know,” he tells him. “She’s only ever done what she thought was right with you.”

“I know,” Ben replies. “But I just…”

His dad waits for an answer, but it doesn’t come. By the time Chewie climbs aboard, he’s given up and has retreated to the cockpit to set the flight path. As soon as they’re in the air, a sense of calm washes over him. He shifts over to the far side of the table so Chewie can play Dejarik against himself.

Despite being sure to win one way or the other, the Wookiee still manages to get upset when he plays a particularly clever move against himself.

Ben smiles down at his drawings, then turns the page of his notebook.


	6. Chapter 6

_Why would you do that?_

Chewie’s wail echoes throughout the Falcon, as Ben’s dejarik piece slams one of Chewie’s pieces down onto the board.

“Well if you’re gonna play a bullshit move like that then I didn’t have any other option,” Ben says, as the dead piece disappears from the board with a flicker. Chewie has evidently been reading up on new strategies, rather than following his normally excellent instincts. He’s fallen into the trap of being too prescriptive, while Ben has played reactively, always keeping tally of the possible moves ahead.

He’s being unpredictable, which Chewie hates.

Ben’s a big fan of the strategy.

Chewie stares at his remaining pieces, brown eyes flicking from one to the next, considering each possibility in turn. Technically he could take one of Ben’s lesser pieces, but that would leave him wide open to defeat in less than eight moves. His eyes linger on it for a long time, but then the need for instant revenge must dissipate, because he makes a different, much smarter move.

It doesn’t make a lot of difference, however. Ben’s able to take three more pieces before finally being declared the victor, and Chewie slams his hand against the controls. Ben’s pieces — which are celebrating in what can only be described as a vulgar, gloating fashion — disappear abruptly, and Chewie leaves the table, grumbling as he goes.

Ben heads for the cockpit, unable to keep the smirk from his face. He drops into his seat and his dad glances across at him.

“I take it you won,” he says.

“Yeah,” Ben replies, and he leans forward to pluck a hard candy from the bag propped against the controls. He pops it in his mouth and watches the galaxy streak past the viewport, while his dad keeps one eye on their position. “Where we headed?” Ben asks, his candy clacking against his teeth as the words sneak around it.

“Batuu,” his dad replies.

Ben wrinkles his nose. “For a job? Does anyone even go to Batuu anymore?”

The corner of his dad’s mouth lifts into a lopsided smile. “Oh yeah,” he says assuredly, but even when they land in a field among hundreds of other ships, Ben’s still not sure what he means.

Before they’re allowed to disembark, they have to declare themselves over the comms link. His dad evidently knows the person at the other end, because he says, “Harlo! It’s Han. I’ve got Chewie and my kid with me!”

“That Wookiee owes me five credits,” Harlo grumbles over the comms link.

His dad pulls a face, then throws a dirty look towards the corridor, evidently aimed for Chewie. Then he smiles before leaning forward so Harlo can hear him loud and clear. “He’ll pay you back today, pal. Don’t you worry about that.”

“Your confirmation should be coming through now,” Harlo says instantaneously. The readout appears on the screen, and his dad presses a couple of buttons to transfer it to his wrist-link. There is a cheerful bleep of completion, and his dad stands up.

“What’s going on?” Ben asks, grabbing his jacket from the back of his seat. He pulls it on, then grabs his holster and slings the belt around his waist.

“You’ll see,” his dad says. “Chewie?” he calls. “We’re going. And you need to pay Harlo back his five credits.”

Chewie grumbles, and Ben heads down the ramp and into the field. Ships from all over the galaxy are landing, pilots waiting apprehensively in their cockpits as they’re given permission to disembark.

His dad leads the way, towards a dense wooded area, and they trudge through the mud, walking in the same direction as everybody else. It’s like they’re part of an ancient religion and are on some sort of pilgrimage, but after they’ve traipsed a mile or so through the woods and out the other side, things become a little clearer.

There are decorations — flags of all colours, bunting, huge balloons floating high above them, and a set of gates at least forty feet high. Beyond them he can see spectator stands filling rapidly, but before they can go any further, they have to join one of the long lines waiting for the entry kiosks.

“What _is_ this?” Ben asks. He has an inkling, deep down, but it can’t be. It can’t be because it was outlawed _years_ ago, and there’s no way they could hide anything this big.

But nobody visits Batuu anymore.

His dad smirks, then raises an eyebrow, but keeps his lips sealed. Slowly but surely they shuffle to the front of the line, Ben craning his neck to try and see what’s taking place beyond the crowds.

“Clearance?” the kiosk worker asks once they reach the front of the line. His dad pushes a button on his wrist link and it pops up. The kiosk worker types it into his data screen. “Three tickets, that’ll be thirty credits.”

“Even for the kid?” his dad asks, jabbing a thumb in Ben’s direction.

“How old is the kid?” the kiosk worker asks, his grey eyes narrowing.

“Twenty-two,” his dad replies. “You don’t do a discount for kids?”

The kiosk worker sits back in his seat, stony-faced. “No,” he says. “We do not offer a children’s discount for twenty-two year old adults.”

Ben sniggers, and receives a stern look from his dad. “Fine,” he says, and he slaps thirty credits onto the counter, hastily collected by a blue spindly hand.

“I should charge you double for the Wookiee,” the kiosk worker says. “No one sitting behind him will be able to see.”

“Well thank you for your generosity,” his dad says with a forced smile, and he claps Ben on the shoulder, giving him a shove in the direction of the turnstile. He stumbles through it, Chewie following after, and his dad following up the rear.

Now Ben can see.

Pilots stalk around their machines, mechanics making last minute fixes and tweaks. They’re all lined up in a row, a chalky line sprayed onto the muddy ground to mark the starting point. The route disappears into the trees, snaking its way through the landscape. On the screens he can see a map of the circuit, a dozen multicoloured dots lined up, representing each one of the racers.

“ _Pod_ racing?” he breathes.

His dad winks. “Come on, there’s a good corner half a mile down the track.”

They wind their way through the crowds, sellers harassing them, offering up binoculars at over inflated prices, bookmakers yelling odds on the drivers so fast that Ben can’t process it. He grabs a flyer with the race schedule from one hand that waves in his face, but dismisses the next hand, which is shaking a souvenir poncho at him.

Once they’re away from the starting line, the crowd thins out a bit. Some people have brought chairs with them, others are sitting on upturned logs. At the corner his dad spoke about, there’s a small spectator stand with less than a dozen people in it. They slip into the centre of the third row, and slowly the seats start to fill up around them. The noise from the main stand is a distant roar, but it grows louder and louder, and is ultimately joined by the buzzing of engines. Chewie edges out of the row just a few minutes before the first race is due to start, but returns in time with three cold bottles of beer and an armful of snacks.

A crack followed by screams from the starting line tells them it’s begun, and Ben hears the engines, rising in pitch and volume as they draw closer and closer. All twelve racers whip around the corner, the down thrust spraying mud over the crowd. The first two rows get covered, but in the third row, they just have to deal with a few specks here and there.

Ben looks across to his dad, who’s looking far too pleased with himself, and footage of the race comes up on the screen overhead.

“Does Mom know you come and see this?” he asks.

His dad shakes his head. “It’s for the best. Puts her in a difficult position work-wise.”

Ben nods and takes a sip of his beer. On the screen, one of the pods catches a low hanging tree branch, there’s a spark, and then a flare of orange as an empathetic ‘ _oooh_ ’ echoes around the stadium. The driver ejects from the pod, and is thrust towards the crowd, who dive out of harms way as he lands with with a crash in the stand.

The races progress throughout the day, Ben following each one against the schedule, making a note of which drivers are making it through to race a second, third, or even in one case, a sixth time.

He tugs open a bag of unfamiliar snacks, picking one from the pack and eyeing it warily before putting it in his mouth. It’s salty and crunchy, and it makes him drain the last of his beer.

But he wants another one.

He shoves a couple in his mouth then gets up, sidling out of the row to get more drinks for the three of them. The queue is far too long, and he taps anxiously against his thighs as he waits. He reaches the front just as the pods zoom past on yet another lap — eighth out of a total of twelve, he thinks. The beer bottles are cool in his hands, the third one slightly precarious as he balances it against the other two bottles.

Ben walks carefully back to the stand, condensation dripping onto his hands. He can see his dad, leaning across the empty seat to talk to Chewie. The sound of engines grows to a roar behind him as the racers loop back round again.

And then he senses it, half a moment before it happens.

He drops the beers as the pod clips a tree trunk with an enormous _clang_. It soars into the air, towards the stand, and deafening screams surround him. He can feel the panic of a hundred people, tearing through his body.

But then he raises his hand, and the pod stops in mid air, hanging over the crowd.

Ben’s heart is thudding, and he waits for the other racers to pass before easing it back down onto the track. It lands with a crunch, and the race team rushes towards it, pulling the dazed driver from the wreckage.

He can feel eyes on him, and he looks over to his dad, ashen faced, but relieved. Ben’s mouth is drier than ever, though his leg is soaking wet. He looks down to see the last drops of the abandoned beers trickling from the bottle necks. They must have fizzed up and sprayed him. Before he can even think about heading back to the drinks cart, a large hand claps him on the shoulder.

Ben turns to see an Artiodac looming over him, bedecked in souvenir poncho and cap. “Your round’s on me, bud,” he says, offering a large toothy grin.

“Uh, thanks,” Ben says awkwardly, acutely aware that the hand on his shoulder could crush him to pieces if it so chose.

“That’s some trick you got there,” the Artiodac adds, before patting him on the back and lumbering in the direction of the drinks stand.

Ben lets out a slow shaky breath, and climbs the couple of steps to the third row. People stand up to let him pass this time, rather than halfheartedly shifting their legs to one side. When he sits down, his dad squeezes his shoulder.

“You okay, kid?”

Ben nods, and sets his snacks to one side. He feels sick, truth be told, and the noise of the crowd — so quickly recovered from their near death experience — is ringing in his ears.

“You did good,” he says, shaking him a little. “You did real good.”

“I didn’t wanna use it,” Ben mumbles. “I didn’t wanna use it ever again.”

“Cut yourself some slack,” his dad says. “Maybe just keep it in reserve for life or death situations, all right? No point dying over your principles.”

Ben lets out a breath of laughter, and then his thoughts are distracted entirely by the half dozen beers being passed along the row to them. He looks up to see the Artiodac, climbing the steps to the back row, and Ben raises a thumbs up by way of a thank you. The gruff smile and nod confirm that he’s seen it, and Ben turns back the race — now on its final lap.

His dad passes him the race schedule. “I’m gonna put a little something on that number seven for the next race,” he tells him quietly. “You wanna pick one and I’ll put something on for you too?”

Ben looks at the list of racers, then chooses number eight.

“Back in a bit,” his dad says, and disappears towards the main stretch in search of a bookmaker. It’s money down the drain, probably, but it’s a welcome injection of jeopardy, as opposed to the extremely real mortal peril that this particular race has included.

His dad returns a short while later, two betting slips in his hand. He passes one to Ben, who glances down at it then tucks it in his pocket. When the next race begins, his dad taps him on the shoulder and shuffles forward on his seat. The pods come screaming around the corner, and two get their engines tangled on the tight bend.The ones behind dart above them in an effort to avoid a collision, and the entire stand gets to their feet as the tangled pods fight to regain independence.

In their distraction, the one on the outside of the bend veers into the barrier, and an ear-splitting boom reverberates through the circuit, Ben feeling it in the very pit of his stomach. Flames follow, enormous clouds of black smoke billowing out. Fire safety droids swarm around the crash, sprays of foam dampening the flames quickly as the drivers emerge, arguing fiercely with one another.

“Well that’s that,” his dad says sourly, screwing up his betting slip and throwing it to the floor.

Ben looks up at the screen to see that number eight is still in with a fighting chance. The pilot is third as things stand, with a half dozen other racers hot on their tail. But there are eleven laps to go, and anything could happen. He takes a swig of his beer, and nearly chokes on it when his dot disappears in amongst the others. But then it emerges, still in third place, but still going.

The screams of the crowd start to build as they come around for another lap. Ben could swear they’re going faster than any of the previous races, and the splatter of mud that lands on his knees as they whip around the bend, engines maxed out, confirms his hypothesis.

A few minutes later there’s an almighty crash that sounds like thunder, and three more of the coloured dots blink out of life on the screen.

Number eight is still in it though.

“I’m gonna go down to the finish line,” he says, and he edges out of the row, beer in hand. With several laps to go he’s jumping the gun somewhat, but by the time he gets down there, they should be nearing the final stages.

The smell of burning fuel pierces his nose as he heads back to the main stands, and when he arrives, the crowds are at least six deep at the barrier. He scouts out a half decent position, behind a handful of people shorter than him, and glances up to the big screen.

Two laps to go. Four racers still in it.

Ben puts his hand in his pocket and closes his fingers around his betting slip. He’d not been too bothered by the bet when his dad had first suggested it, but now they’re so close, and his pilot is tight behind second place, he could be in with a chance. He has no idea what the odds were, but even just a little something would be a bonus on top of a brilliant day.

He flinches as the crowd roars, wincing as the noise pierces his eardrums. But in amongst the shouts and screams he can hear the buzzing of engines pushed to their absolute limit. And as they round the corner, number eight darts up the inside of number five. The pod veers to one side, rattled by the sudden appearance of its competitor, and in his panic he loses a fraction of his speed, giving number eight the chance to pull away and pursue first place.

It’s the final lap now, and Ben’s mouth is dry as he watches the two front runners battle it out via the screen. At every bend he bites his lip, his betting slip crumpled in his warm fist. The noise of the crowd builds to a crescendo, louder than Ben had ever thought possible. He clamps his hands over his ears, eyes on the final corner where they should be appearing any second.

They’re neck and neck on the screen, but then they come into view and number eight throws his pod sideways, slipping up the narrowest gap and hammering one final burst of energy from his engines.

It’s over before Ben can process what’s happened. He has no idea which pod won, they’d both crossed the finish line in a haze of mud and sparks.

A word flashes across the screen:

_PENDING_

It stays there for an eternity, and then it declares:

_WINNER - NO. 8_

Ben lets out a loud and triumphant ‘ _ha_!’, then picks his way through the crowd to hunt down one of the bookmakers before they shut up shop for the day. He joins a line, with only two people ahead of him, and soon the bookmaker takes his slip and squints at it.

“You’re sure that says eight?” he asks.

“Are you sure you wanna argue that point?”

The bookmaker grumbles and hands over a stack of credits. Ben shoves them into his pocket, not wanting to count them in such a crowded area, but when he’s handed the confirmation slip, he glances down at the amount: 160 credits.

He presses his lips together, trying to keep the grin from his face, and starts the slow walk back to find his dad and Chewie. He’s greeted with a high pitched whoop from his dad, who congratulates him heartily on his win.

“Great job, kid! Only you could turn a profit at the races!”

Ben laughs, and takes the beer Chewie hands him, despite his burgeoning lightheadedness. Even though the races are over for the day, it seems like the party’s just beginning. Hot food stands spring up from nowhere, and people overflow onto the track, talking animatedly as they haphazardly eat their food with one hand, their drinks precariously balanced.

It’s not even late by the time they get back to the Falcon — just gone nine in fact. But they started early, and Ben is exhausted, but happy.

He retreats to his bunk and slips into a dreamless sleep that carries him through until morning.


	7. Chapter 7

He’s kicked his blanket off of him in the night. He’s drenched in sweat, but it’s not the usual kind — the kind where he’s cold and fearful. This feels like he’s spent the night in a sauna. He’s thirsty, and he gropes for his canteen, his clammy palm finding the metal on the shelf next to his bed. He sits up, scowls at all the sand surrounding him, and unscrews the cap. He drinks deeply, the chill of the water seeping through him.

As his body temperature starts to return to normal, Ben leans over to press his hand against the vents. It’s a normal temperature, and now he’s awake, the heat is seeping away from him. He sits there for a few minutes, confused, but eventually the sand starts to irritate his feet and so he brushes it out yet again.

It’s getting ridiculous.

He gets up and lifts his blanket from the bed, shaking it out. The sand covers the floor, forming small piles, some of which slip through the grated floor and trickle down to the cargo hold.

As the last of the sand loosens from the wool of his blanket, Ben becomes aware of an acute, piercing sense of loneliness. It echoes like a chasm inside of him and he sinks down onto his bed, troubled by the aching sensation of isolation pooling in his chest.

He hasn’t felt this alone in months.

It scares him.

And at the heart of it, right at the very core, is an innate sense of longing.

He stands up and the blanket trails behind him, draping onto the floor. He leaves his room, and heads for the cockpit, but it’s empty, controls set to autopilot. An illogical panic rises within him, and he swallows it down, his mouth dry.

His bare feet lead him to the galley, where his dad is making coffee.

“Hey kid,” he says casually, but something causes him to do a double take and set his cup down clumsily. “You okay?”

Ben shakes his head, though he has no idea what’s wrong, and the hug that follows feels like a lifeline. He holds onto his dad as if the galaxy might rip them away from each other, and his dad doesn’t question it. If he did, there’d be nothing to say. No answers to offer. Just this sense of being so minute in an uncaring galaxy.

His dad coaxes him into the cockpit, then brings his coffee and a mug of tea for Ben. He tries to explain to his dad, who sits there patiently, waiting for him to tease out the words, but it’s difficult to vocalise.

“I just woke up,” he says with a useless shrug. “And I felt _so_ alone.”

“You’re never alone, kid. You’ve got me, Chewie, your mom. None of that will ever change.”

“I know,” Ben sighs. “But I can’t shake it. I’ve not felt like this since…” He’s never spoken about that night, not since he found his dad on Nar Shaddaa. He doesn’t need to explain it though. His dad knows exactly what he’s referring to.

“Were you dreaming again?”

Ben shakes his head. “Not really.”

“What does ‘not really’ mean?” his dad asks, the question soft. His brown eyes are creased at the edges with concern, his brow pulled into a frown.

Ben shrugs. “I don’t remember it when I wake up, but I know I did.”

“Every day?”

Ben nods, and his dad sinks back into his seat with a sigh of acceptance. “At least that’s better than before,” he replies.

“Loads better,” Ben agrees. “But —” He doesn’t want to sound ridiculous, or like he’s losing his mind. But it’s bothering him. And there could be something wrong with the ship, or wrong with his room, or, more worryingly, wrong with _himself_.

“But?”

“I keep getting sand in my bed,” Ben says in a rush, and before he can register his dad’s reaction he ploughs on. “Like I go to bed and there’s no sand in my bed, and I wake up and it’s _there_.”

His dad frowns. “Every day?”

“ _Every day._ ” Ben gets up and leads the way to his bedroom, the door sliding open when he taps the control. He stands aside so his dad can see the miniature sand dune that forms in his bedroom every morning.

“Shit, kid, I thought you meant just a little bit, not half a damn desert!” His dad squeezes past him to enter the room, picks up the blanket and dumps it on the bed, which still has a smattering of sand spread across it. His dad crouches down, and scoops up and handful of sand, letting it run through his fingers.

“You know,” he says. “I thought at first it was probably because it’s an old ship, it’s been through Tattooine hundreds of times and you know what sand’s like. But this…there’s no way all this is coming out every night.”

Ben leans against the doorway, skewing his lips to one side. At least this isn’t in his head. It’s weird — weirder than almost anything he’s ever encountered. But it’s undermined by the fact that it’s so damn harmless. It’s bizarre on every level.

His dad rises to his feet, tips the mattress onto its side, and brushes the last of the sand off of it.

“How long’s it been happening?” he asks.

Ben casts his mind back. It’s been the same since he started sleeping properly again. Since the dreams started to recede into nothing. “Since Takodana I guess,” he tells him.

His dad shoots him a glare. “That was _months_ ago! Why didn’t you say anything?”

Ben shrugs. “It’s only sand.”

“Only _sand_ ,” his dad mutters, and moves past him back into the corridor, before descending down to the cargo hold. Ben hastily pulls his socks and boots on then follows him down there. As he steps onto the floor, he hears a crunch beneath his foot.

He frowns and looks down.

Sand.

“It’s all come down from your room,” his dad says, and Ben weaves around the stacks of crates to see him standing next to a pile of sand that reaches up to his knees. There must be at least half a ton of it spread around down here. Each day for the last few months, he’s woken to find at least a couple of handfuls in his bed.

It’s built up. Evidently.

“Who knows,” his dad says with a shrug. “We’ll dump it next time we’re passing Tattooine.

“Do we _ever_ pass Tattooine?” Ben asks sceptically.

“I might have a job coming up in a few weeks,” his dad replies as he climbs the steps up to the deck. “I’ll need to go to Mos Eisley to be sure.”

“What kind of job?” Ben asks, hot on his heels. The sand and the loneliness have vanished from the back of his mind at the prospect of being taken along on a real, proper job, rather than just the odd errand which tides them over from one week to the next. His dad casts a look over his shoulder then heads for the cockpit, dropping into the seat. Ben drops into the co-pilot’s seat too, awaiting details.

“Nothing special,” his dad tells him. “Nothing exciting. But it requires…let’s say, a little delicacy.” His eyes are twinkling now, a half smile on his lips. “You wanna come along?” he asks.

“Yeah, of course!”

“You don’t wanna go home or anything?”

“No, why would I?” The words fall out of him with a speed that is probably inappropriate. There’s a flicker in his dad’s eyes that Ben tries to ignore, but can’t. “I mean, I like being here, with _you_.”

“I know,” his dad replies. “I know you do. Will you do me a favour though?”

Ben doesn’t respond. His dad rarely asks for favours, not from him, anyway. He waits to hear the words, his stomach twisting itself in knots, anticipating the ask.

“Will you call your mom?”

And there it is.

It shouldn’t be difficult, but it feels like the hardest thing in the world right now. He doesn’t _want_ to talk to her. He has nothing to say to her. And even though he’s gone over it a thousand times in his own head, he still can’t shake the underlying resentment he has for her.

She sent him away.

He nearly died because of it.

And he knows she couldn’t have known. She could never have foreseen what Luke would do. But there’s part of him that can hardly believe that she got wrapped in Luke’s plans, in the notion that things would be different this time, after generations of battle and death and destruction — even in peacetime.

Peacetime just means the Jedi are winning. Nothing more than that.

“Yeah, fine,” Ben says with a non-committal shrug, and he leaves the cockpit, heading for the galley to find something for breakfast.

* * *

He’s held to his word.

That night, his dad patches through a connection to Hosnian Prime, and sits Ben down in the pilot seat. His dad then leaves the cockpit, the door sealing shut behind him, and Ben glances towards the speaker. He taps his fingers against his thigh as he waits for the sound to come through. He can hear static on the line, and he hopes that the connection will be too bad for him to speak to her for too long.

“Ben?”

Her voice rings out clear over the line, and Ben slumps back in the seat, raising his feet to rest them against the edge of the console.

“Hi Mom.”

“It’s good to hear from you,” she says. He knows she means well. He knows that she’s genuinely pleased to hear from him. But the comment rankles all the same. As though it’s a sly dig at the fact that he’s been out of contact for so long.

But it was always much longer when he was away at the temple. Out of sight, out of mind. That was how it was with his training.

He must be quiet for too long, because she pushes the conversation forward, the warmth in her voice carried across the lightyears to this slightly cold cockpit.

“How are you?”

“Fine,” he replies automatically.

“Are you?”

“Yeah, Mom,” he replies quietly but emphatically. “I needed to get away from…everything.”

“Even me, it seems,” she muses. It’s half joke, half serious. But Ben scowls all the same.

“Maybe it’s not about you,” he mutters, though not quietly enough for her to miss it on the other side of the galaxy.

“I know,” she replies. “I just miss you, is all.”

She wants him to say it back, but he won’t lie to her. If he does he’ll set a precedent, or she’ll start trying to convince his dad to bring him home. Besides, if she missed him that much, why did she send him away in the first place?

“What have you been up to?” she asks after a deep breath. She’s changing the subject, hoping for lighter topics, but everything Ben could tell her falls out of his head. He can’t tell her about the pod racing, nor can he tell her about his betting victory.

“Oh you know,” he says, and he picks at a scuff on the pilot’s seat, his fingernail catching against the tear in the fabric. “Just flying around and stuff.”

He doesn’t tell her about the sand.

“D’you stop anywhere?” she asks. “Go anywhere?”

He casts his mind around. “Yeah. We went to Jedha, delivered a shipment, had a look around. There’s not much there.”

“There used to be,” she tells him.

“I know,” he says.

“Dad tells me you’ve been sleeping better.” She’s changing the subject again, trying to wheedle something out of him. If he had it, he’d give it freely, if it meant he could avoid all of this awkward anxiety that’s tightly winding its way through him.

“Yeah,” he says. “A little better. Now I’m away from there.”

She doesn’t need to ask where ‘there’ is. And perhaps it’s a little disingenuous for him to attribute his bad dreams to the temple alone. He’s had them all his life. Up until Maz had intervened, of course. And he still gets them, of course he does. But they’re diluted.

At worst, they’re an inconvenience. At best, they’re tolerable.

But he doesn’t tell her that. And he could. She would be pleased to hear it. Except it’s personal, and he’d rather keep it to himself.

“Well I’m glad,” she says. “Maybe it’s for the best. You know I’m proud of you no matter what, don’t you?”

Again, he’s finding gaps in her words that aren’t supposed to be on show. She’s trying to tell him she’s not disappointed that he’s abandoned his Jedi training, but all he can hear is that she’s expecting him to feel bad about it. He doesn’t. He never has. Why would he? It nearly killed him.

“How’s work?” he asks. “Voted for any laws lately?” The sarcasm is there by default. It’s not intentional at all, but she lets out a soft snort of laughter at the other end of the line.

“A few. Protecting trade routes, that kind of thing. Nothing interesting.” She talks a little more, mentioning names that Ben vaguely recalls hearing before, and this is far, far preferable to having to tell her about his days. She’s as busy as ever, while he spends a lot of time on the Falcon playing dejarik with Chewie or occasionally navigating them through a tricky stretch. It’s not much to write home about.

Their destinations are hardly magnificent either. Even if they go to big cities or major planets, they usually skulk around to some little dive to discuss a job. It’s not a sightseeing trip.

His mother falls silent after a little while, and when he doesn’t say anything, he hears her take a deep breath, but then release it, thinking better of her words. She must convince herself otherwise again, however, because she takes another deep breath and says, “I spoke to Luke.”

Ben freezes.

“He says he’s sorry.”

Ben’s ears are ringing. He’s _sorry_? That’s _it_?

“Mom, he tried to fucking _kill me._ ” The words pour from him in a rush of anger. Why is she even _speaking_ to him? Surely he should be banished from their lives forever?

“I know,” she says softly. “We talked about it. He told me what happened.”

“Oh and what did he tell _you_?” he demands, his voice raising as he leans forward to the comm link. “What fucking _lies_ did he feed you?”

“He said it was a mistake,” she tells him, and Ben opens his mouth indignantly. A _mistake_? When was the last time attempted murder was considered a _mistake_? His mother cuts him off before he can interject with such sentiments.

“He saw Snoke’s influence on you. It scared him. You can’t imagine how much he regrets it.”

“I don’t _care_ if he regrets it or not!” Ben snaps. “He tried to fucking _kill me!_ What part of that aren’t you getting? I was fucking asleep in my fucking bed and he tried to fucking _kill me_.” His anger has far overtaken his anxiety, burning it to ash. For the first time in months he’s truly angry, and when he looks down at his hands he realises they’re pale and trembling.

“I know,” his mother says softly. “But he asked me to tell you all the same.”

“Well you can tell him from me that he can go _fuck himself_.”

What is she even thinking? Is this what she wanted to say to him all along? That he should try and understand things from _Luke’s_ point of view? Ben knows he’s been influenced by Snoke, he’s had him in his head his whole fucking life. It’s hardly a revelation. Snoke’s voice had been the first one he’d heard when he’d gotten into Ansad’s ship.

 _Anything_ could have happened in that moment. And in all the moments that followed, if he hadn’t found his dad.

“Ben —”

“I can’t fucking _believe_ you,” he whispers. “What do you even _want_ from me? You sent me away in the first place and now you tell me you _miss me_?”

“ _Ben —_ ”

“And then, and _then_ , your own _brother_ tries to kill me and you want me to take a little bit of time to consider how _he_ feels about that? What about how _I_ feel? I woke up thinking I was going to fucking _die!_ ”

“Ben, I _know —_ ”

“And now, I’m on the run for-fucking- _ever_ because Snoke won’t leave me the fuck alone because of this stupid fucking _Skywalker_ bullshit _bloodline_.”

“Ben, _please_ , don’t work yourself up —”

“Work _myself_ up?” He’s standing now, though he has no memory of rising to his feet, and the words tear at his throat as he hurls them at comm link. He opens his mouth, the rage ready to flow out of him, but the door opens and his dad stumbles into the cockpit, hand closing around Ben’s upper arm.

Ben shakes him off.

“I can’t fucking _believe_ you! If you wanna prioritise him, that suits me just fucking _fine_. I don’t _need you._ I don’t want to be _around you_. I don’t —”

His dad pulls him from the cockpit, out into the corridor, his ribcage rising and falling with each rapid breath. “What happened?” he asks, his eyes searching Ben’s face for answers. With a shaking hand he wipes at Ben’s cheek.

There are tears.

Ben looks up at the ceiling and tries to swallow the lump in his throat. His heart is pounding, anger flooding through his veins, and in the back of his mind he feels a creeping sense of dread that only serves to add fear into the mix.

“Luke’s a little upset about the whole ‘trying to kill me’ thing,” Ben tells him weakly. “And I’m supposed to be considerate of that.”

His dad lets out a heavy sigh, his grip on him loosening. “Gimme a sec,” he says, and he disappears into the cockpit, the door sealing shut behind him. He wonders briefly what his mother will say, what version she will tell his dad, and then he realises he doesn’t much care.

Ben wipes angrily at his face with his shirt sleeve. His throat is sore from all the shouting — he’s not shouted like that in months. He presses his hands to his face, trying to regain some calm, but then he hears his dad’s raised voice, seeping through the closed door.

“It doesn’t _matter_. The kid woke up with a lightsaber in his face! It doesn’t _matter_ if he would have done it or not!”

He doesn’t want to stand here and listen to this, like a little kid who can’t escape the arguing of his parents. But then Chewie emerges into the corridor, throws one filthy look towards the racket, and puts an arm around Ben’s shoulders, guiding him towards the main hold. He lets out a soft wail.

_Somehow, all three of you ended up with the arguing gene._

Ben lets out an involuntary laugh, and slips into the seat, his elbows propped up on the table. He rests his head in his hands, and Chewie keeps a firm grip on his shoulder. The touch, and the warmth of him right next to Ben, is comforting on the cool ship.

It’s a good five minutes before his dad returns, his footsteps echoing through the corridors way ahead of him. Chewie gets up from the table and disappears to his quarters, and Ben’s dad takes a seat opposite, his face set in a stern expression.

“Dad —”

“She shouldn’t have even mentioned it,” he tells him. “She handled it badly, you blew up, it happens.”

He’s not mad.

Not at Ben, at least. His mouth is set in a thin line, the twinkle in his eyes noticeable by its absence. He shakes his head and looks down at the table, then heaves a sigh.

“Look, kid, I’m not gonna let him take you. Not for anything, not ever, you understand me?”

Ben nods. He doesn’t need to ask who ‘he’ is.

“So if that means we’re on the run, that means we’re on the run.” His dad’s face is more serious than he’s ever seen it, and he pronounces each words specifically, hammering the point home.

“I don’t feel like he’s chasing me,” Ben tells him, and it’s almost a relief to talk about it out loud, with someone who understands. “I just don’t wanna stay in one place for too long. I don’t wanna get comfortable.”

“So we won’t get comfortable,” his dad replies with a nod. “That sounds like the best plan.”

Ben lets out a slow breath and looks down at his hands. They’re still trembling, but then his dad’s hand comes into view, pat’s Ben’s larger ones, then he gets up from the table. He goes over to the storage lockers, opening the top one, and then the middle one.

“By the way, I’ve got no idea what they were teaching you at that damn temple, but you’ve got a helluva a mouth on you.”

Ben smiles sheepishly, but doesn’t say anything. He has a feeling that his dad is shielding him from a lot of what was said after Ben’s own argument. That things are far worse than they seem. But then his dad pulls out two bottles of beer, closes the locker with his hip then rejoins Ben at the table.

He sets the beers down, and they each pop the caps. His dad holds his beer aloft, ready to toast.

“Fuck Snoke,” he says.

Ben feels a shred of panic in his heart, but then his brain kicks into gear and he clinks the neck of his own beer bottle against his dad’s.

“Fuck Snoke,” he says, with an assuredness that lifts his spirit.

And they both drink to that.


	8. Chapter 8

He’s twenty-three.

He’d forgotten the day was coming — it’s easy to lose track of time in space. He hadn’t even realised it was approaching until his dad had asked him a few days ago if he’d wanted to do anything special.

“Not really,” is all he’d been able to say.

Despite this, he wakes on his birthday, brushes the sand out of his bed, and heads into the main hold. There’s a small pile of gifts, and an iced cake that must have been picked up sometime yesterday.

His dad arrives, arms held aloft to give his announcement the grandeur it deserves. “Happy birthday, kid!” He wraps his arms around Ben, squeezes him, then claps him on the back. “Twenty-three, huh?”

Ben smiles despite himself, and sits down, pulling the first gift towards him. The box is tied with string and he tugs at one end of it, the knot falling open. He slides the lid off and peers inside to find a dozen different coloured inks.

“Thanks dad,” he says, and he takes them out, holding them up to the light so he can see the pigment. A wailing yawn echoes down the corridor, and his dad shifts around the table to make room for Chewie, who enters a few moments later and plonks himself down on the seat.

 _Happy birthday_.

“Thanks Chewie,” Ben says, and the next gift is squishy, folded in brown paper. He opens the paper up to reveal a chunky, fleece-lined shirt.

“You’re not so big that I don’t worry about you getting cold,” his dad says. “Let me know if it doesn’t fit, I can trade it for another no problem.”

Ben holds it out in front of him, the thick burgundy cord on the outside of the shirt soft against his skin. The shoulders look plenty wide enough for him — which is usually problem — and the sleeves look long enough too.

“It’s great, Dad. Thanks.”

The last gift is packaged in a heavy metal case which scrapes against the table as Ben pulls it towards him. He frowns down at it, fingers fumbling with the clasps before they pop open. He lifts the lid.

It’s a blaster.

A decent one at that. Ben looks over the lid to his dad, who says, “I thought you needed something better than that junk you took from Rontu.” He leans back in the seat. “You’re twenty-three now. Gotta have some firepower with that.”

Ben blinks and takes the blaster out. It’s heavy in his hand, far heavier than the one he’s had on standby these past few months.

“What have you heard?” he asks his dad.

There’s more to it than just a coming of age gift. His suspicion is proven correct when the smile slips from his dad’s face. He pauses, as if trying to decide how much to say, but then he sighs.

“I’m hearing from both sides that the First Order is ramping things up.” His voice is low, and he leans across the table to put a hand on Ben’s arm. “And I don’t think that means too much for you _specifically_ , but I just want you to have more in your arsenal than they do.”

“What d’you mean both sides?”

“Well, from your mother, and from my contacts too. Everyone’s aware of it. People going missing, Stormtroopers growing in numbers. Planets on the outskirts of the Mid-Rim are at greatest risk.”

“Right,” Ben says. “What are the New Republic doing about it?”

His dad lets out another sigh. “They’re doing everything they can to try and contain it.”

That doesn’t sound good. And with Snoke fuelling the First Order, it could just grow and grow and grow like a tumour across the galaxy.

“It’s just a precaution,” his dad says. “Okay?”

Ben nods, but doesn’t say anything. His thoughts linger on Snoke, but as soon as he feels the dread creeping up the back of his spine, as if somebody were standing close behind him, he shuts it down, refusing to consider it for another moment.

His dad clears his throat. “I thought we could go to Coruscant tonight. What d’you think?”

“Yeah sounds good,” he replies, and then he grabs his inks and his shirt. “I’m gonna go and test these out.” He holds up the inks then stands up, walking quickly to his bedroom to try and find some distraction in his calligraphy.

* * *

He’s layered up — undershirt, new shirt, and his jacket on top. His new blaster hangs at his hip as they walk into the bar, the neon lights making his eyes go funny for half a moment while they adjust.

It’s busy, but not too busy. There’s a hum of chatter, and music fills in the gaps. Ben finds a table in the corner, where he can keep an eye on everybody who comes and goes. He likes to people watch, but he also likes to know what’s going on.

The more time he spends with his dad, the more he picks up his habits.

They slip into the booth and make themselves comfortable. There’s a data screen connected to the table, and his dad pulls it towards him, opening up the menu and tapping on a few items. He slides the menu over to Ben and says, “Take your pick, kid.”

Ben swipes through the options, makes his choice, and then slides the data screen over to Chewie. He spends a long while flicking between screens, trying to decide what he wants to eat, and Ben bites his lip while his dad gets more and more frustrated.

“Just pick something already, will ya?” he says, before turning his gaze on Ben, eyes wide with impatience. “It’s not hard.”

Chewie grumbles something that Ben can’t translate, but his dad apparently does understand because he whips back around to face the Wookiee, one finger in the air. “ _Hey_ , this is a nice place.”

Chewie grumbles a few more words that are lost in the noise of music and conversation, then jabs at the screen before sliding it back across the table. Ben taps his fingers against the table while his dad completes the order, and then it’s just a few minutes before their drinks are delivered.

Ben goes to take a sip from his, but before he can, his dad raises his own glass in a toast.

“To my boy,” he says. “I’m proud of the man you’ve become — today and on all the days when it’s _not_ your birthday. But today seems like a good time to say it. I love ya, kid. So, let’s drink to your health, your happiness, and to having a damn good time.”

Chewie lets out a low level, but enthusiastic roar to echo the sentiments, and they clink their glasses together. Ben’s never had anybody toast him before, and as he wipes the beer foam from his top lip as he wonders what else he’s missed out on in all those years at the temple. Of course he’d been out on missions with Luke, and of course in some ways he’s been highly exposed to the galaxy. But to things like war and destruction, corruption, and deception. When it comes to rites of passage, he’s severely lacking.

He’d never even drunk in a bar with his dad until he ran away. Now it happens at least three times a week. It’s like his life has been turned on its head. He mulls it over while he sips his beer, watching people lit blue and red by neon as they make their way back and forth from the bar. Unlike their usual haunts, this bar has some people that are Ben’s own age, rather than the grizzled old smugglers and bounty hunters they normally encounter.

“The university’s not too far from here,” his dad says, as if he can read Ben’s mind. “Thought it might be good for you, you know. To mingle.”

Ben frowns at the use of the word ‘mingle’. What’s he supposed to do? Just go up to someone and introduce himself? He’s never heard of anything more ridiculous. What the hell would he say? The very notion of it is bizarre.

Thankfully, he’s saved from the awkwardness by their food arriving, and his dad is wholly distracted by the enormous rack of ribs on his plate. Ben eats slowly, with the intention of not revisiting the topic ever again. While he eats, the music changes and becomes a little more uptempo. He checks his wrist-link — it’s just gone nine o’clock. A large group files in through the door, and judging by their merriment, they’ve already been drinking somewhere else.

He’s content to hide away in the corner, behind Chewie’s enormous figure, until dessert comes with two sparklers sticking out the top of it.

“ _Dad_.”

His dad just grins, and the sparklers capture the attention of the other punters, who whoop as Ben covers his face and slides down in his seat. When the sparklers finally fizzle out, there’s one last cheer and a few people clap, and Ben could very happily die under the table and rot there for an eternity.

“This’ll go down well with it,” his dad says, as another waitress arrives with three tumblers full of clear liquid.

She sets the first two down in front of his dad and Chewie, but then her eyes fall on Ben and she pauses.

“How old is he?” she asks, the glass in her hand, halfway to the table.

“Twenty-three,” his dad replies. “Why?”

She puts the glass back on her tray. “Sorry,” she says, though she doesn’t seem sorry at all. “This stuff’s banned for under twenty-fives.” She shrugs, and goes to step away.

“You’re kidding?” his dad says. “Right?”

The woman shakes her head. “I’m not. It’s pretty lethal so maybe I’m doing you a favour, honey.” She directs the last comment towards Ben. Something stirs within him. It’s not quite jealousy, but he knows that deep down he wants to do something ahead of the pack. He’s missed out on so much that this time he’d like to be at the front of the line.

“I’m actually twenty-five,” he says, forcing confidence into his voice. He even offers her a smile. “You’ll have to forgive my old man, he’s getting a little forgetful.”

“You got ID?” she asks, raising one sceptical eyebrow.

He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t.

But then he waves one hand in the most minute of motions.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I’m actually twenty-five.”

He waits, his breath caught in his chest, and her eyes glaze over for a second before she smiles and hands him the drink.

“Of course,” she says with a little laugh. “You’re actually twenty-five. You know, my dad doesn’t even know I exist, so I think yours can be forgiven for forgetting your age.”

Ben laughs, and she walks away. He presses his lips together to try and shut down his his guilt, but then his eyes meet his dad’s, and a genuine laugh bursts forth from within him.

“Well at least your training wasn’t a _total_ waste of time,” his dad says, and takes a sip of his drink before letting out a hiss. “ _Wow_ ,” he says, frowning at the glass. “Hey, go easy on that.”

But Ben’s already swallowed a mouthful, which burns his throat all the way down. His eyes water, and he coughs, Chewie reaching across to thump him unhelpfully on the back.

“You okay?”

Ben nods, and tries to adjust to the taste in his mouth. When the burning doesn’t recede, he shoves a spoonful of his dessert into his mouth, the sweetness counteracting the bitter burn.

As he slumps back in his seat, Chewie sniggers next to him. Ben digs a halfhearted elbow into his ribs, then for some terrible reason that he’s in no shape to give any real thought to, he takes another sip of the drink.

It’s not so bad this time — it’s possible that all his tastebuds and nerve endings were burned away by the first sip. Now he can swallow it with far greater ease. He can feel the heat of it lighting his veins. The music pounds in his head, but in a good way. He slips his jacket off, then takes another sip of the drink.

He doesn’t even know what it is, but it makes him feel more comfortable as the bar starts to fill, and so when his dad tentatively asks if he wants another one, he says yes.

* * *

The cold air knocks him sideways.

It’s crisp and dark outside, and bright white lights shine spotlights across the terrace. His breath fogs in the air in front of his face and he steadies himself with his back against the wall. The cold stone manages to penetrate through the back of his thick shirt, but he needs to cool down. The bar is hot and stuffy.

A giggle emanates from one of the darker corners, and Ben ignores it, his head spinning.

“You okay there?”

Ben blinks.

A woman is standing in front of him, the contours of her face illuminated by the lights. Her braids are threaded with glinting metallic strands, and the beads at the end of them clack together as she moves towards him.

Her breath is fogging too.

“Me?” he asks. “I’m fine,” he says, and his balance spins a little off kilter. He flings out a hand to brace himself against the wall and regains his footing. “How are you?”

She smiles, her brown eyes warm with amusement and alcohol. “I’m fine too,” she says.

“Good,” Ben replies. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Her nose scrunches at his words. “Are you new around here?” she asks.

“Passing through,” he replies automatically. They’re always just passing through. No matter who asks. And no matter how pretty they might be. “What about you?”

“I go to the university,” she says. She’s only a couple of steps away from him now, and the buckles on her jacket catch the light. “What do you do?”

He hesitates, before saying, “I work with my dad.”

“And what’s that like?” she asks.

“It’s fine.”

She smiles and looks at the ground, kicking one of the paving slabs lightly with the toe of her heavy boot. “Are you password protected or something?”

Ben frowns. He’s not entirely sure what she means, and his brain clocked off at least an hour ago. “No. Why?”

“You’re not telling me anything,” she says, and she takes another step towards him. A breeze blows, carrying an icy chill, and Ben clenches his jaw. But the wind also carries with it a hint of her perfume, sweet enough to make him forget about the cold.

“Why would I tell you things?” he asks. “We’re strangers.”

She takes another step towards him, and now he can see the electric blue powder that’s dusted on her eyelids, fading at the edges into her dark skin. “I was rather hoping we wouldn’t be strangers for much longer.”

“Oh,” is all he can say. He’s quite sure he’s never felt more stupid in his life ever, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

“I’m Zaydee,” she says.

“Ben,” he replies, and she smiles again. He likes it when she does that.

“Is it your birthday today Ben?”

Suspicion rises up within him, muted by the alcohol, but there, faintly, nonetheless. “How d’you know?”

“I saw your special _dessert_ ,” she tells him, and she takes one last step towards him, her feet fitting comfortably in the gap between his own. She fiddles with the button band of his shirt, and looks up at him. “Unless you’re one of those guys who tells people it’s their birthday so they get free dessert.”

She’s so close now that he can feel her breath on his skin. He wants to touch her, and it seems like his inebriated brain is feeling confident because puts one hand on her waist, the heat of her body seeping through her shirt.

“I’m not one of those guys,” he tells her.

“Good, I hate those guys,” she whispers.

The world disappears, and Ben reacts on instinct, raising a hand to gently cup her face. He pulls her closer, her body pressed against his, and she deepens the kiss, her hand tangling in his hair. Whatever she’s been drinking it’s sweet.

She pulls away from him, her eyes lingering on his, and there’s only a second and a half before his willpower dissolves. Zaydee makes a soft noise against him and Ben tightens his grip on her. One of her hands tugs at his undershirt, slipping through the gap in his layers to rest against the skin of his belly.

He breaks the kiss this time, though he doesn’t take his hands from her.

“My place is only a couple of blocks away,” she tells him breathlessly. She licks her lips, then raises a hand, thumb smearing across his own lips. “Lipstick,” she tells him.

Ben blinks, but his brain provides no words. Zaydee links her hand with his, fingers twining together, and he likes the feel of her hand, but an illogical panic rises within him.

“We could head back there,” she presses on, her eyes searching his for some sort of indication. “For a little privacy, if you want?”

A billion thoughts flash through his mind, but the words that fall from his mouth are a rushed, “No thank you!”

He ducks away from her and stumbles back towards the bar, crossing the threshold into the noise and heat. He weaves through the crowd, walking quickly enough so that he doesn’t lose balance on either foot. Standing still is the real hazard, he has learned.

Ben slips back into the booth, which is empty bar for his and his dad’s jackets. He flops his arms onto the table and rests his head against them. The music is pulsing in his brain and he feels a little sick.

What’s wrong with him? She was nice, and _very_ pretty, and he could have quite happily become _not_ _strangers_ with her. But something had hauled him back, right at the last second. He can’t identify it, not right now at least. He might be able to examine it better tomorrow, but by then the feeling might have faded.

It’s as though there’s a glitch in his circuit board. Everything had been perfectly fine up until she’d asked, and he’d not anticipated any problems whatsoever. He’d not had time to, to be perfectly honest. And then she’d asked, and his brain had screamed at him to run.

Maybe he’s just too highly strung for this place. Or maybe there’s something much deeper wrong with him.

There’s a deep clunk, which he feels, rather than hears, and Ben looks up from his arms to see a tall glass of clear liquid in front of him.

“Dad I don’t think —”

“It’s _water_ ,” his dad replies pointedly, and he slips into the booth next to him.

Ben sits up and takes a sip, and the last memories of the taste of her slip away. He sees her moving through the crowd towards the door, her arms folded, brow set in a slight frown. She waves off the advances of another guy and disappears out the door.

“You know I wouldn’t have minded if you’d wanted to…head out on your own. We wouldn’t have flown away without you.”

Ben frowns into his water. How does he know _everything_?

“I didn’t want to,” he says, and he puts the water down, his eyes still on it. He can feel a heat rising in his cheeks. It’s not the kind of conversation he’s ever had with his dad.

“Well that’s okay,” his dad says. “But you know you can always say. If you meet someone. If you’d like to stick around for an extra day or two. We’re not often on a tight schedule.”

Ben nods, but he can’t really see that happening any time soon. What happened on the terrace was nothing short of a disaster.

“And you know…” his dad trails off, and Ben glances up at him while he considers his next words carefully. “If she wasn’t quite what you were looking for, then whatever your… _type_ is, that’s fine.”

“Dad, I’m not gay,” he says flatly. He’s fairly certain of that fact at least, even if he’s certain of nothing else in the galaxy. He’d liked Zaydee, or at least, he’d liked the brief minutes he’d spent with her.

“Okay,” his dad says. “I just wanted to say, just in case —”

“Thanks Dad,” he says, killing the line of conversation before it can go too much further down the road of uncomfortable euphemisms.

“So what’s up?” he asks.

Ben shrugs, but the desire to talk to his dad is too strong. He spent so many years bottling up his secrets and it got him absolutely nowhere. And now, he’s sitting in a bar with his dad, and he’s ready to talk but the words are difficult.

“I just…” he looks around the bar, at all the other people, most of them his age, most of them having a great time without any sense of displacement. “I just feel like there’s part of me that’s missing.”

“No,” his dad says, shaking his head. “You’re fine as you are.”

“But —”

“That temple deprived you of let’s say…some of the _wonders of life_. You’ve just got a little catching up to do, that’s all, kid.” He puts a hand on Ben’s shoulder, and gives it a reassuring squeeze. It doesn’t have the desired effect on Ben.

“But what if I always feel like this?”

“You won’t,” his dad replies. “You’ll figure out who you are over the next few years, what you like, what you don’t like. You might meet someone who you might wanna spend a few hours with, or you might meet someone you wanna spend a lifetime with. You might even decide that you don’t wanna live like that, and all of that’s fine, as long as you’re happy with who you are.”

Ben draws a line in the condensation of his glass, and a droplet falls from his finger, splashing onto the table.

He has no idea what he wants. It’s as though his heart is in lockdown in the furthest reaches of the galaxy, waiting for something else. Whatever it is, it pulled him away from Zaydee tonight in the most embarrassing way possible.

As he climbs into his bunk that night, he wonders if it was maybe for the best. If he’d dreamed while he was with her, he’d have freaked her out. And who knows what she’d have thought if she’d woken up in the morning with sand in her bed.


	9. Chapter 9

“ _Twelve thousand_?” Ben pulls a face. “What d’you think the Falcon runs on? Bantha shit?”

Chewie sniggers, and Ben presses his lips together to try and hide his own amusement.

“It’s a pity it doesn’t run on sarcasm,” Milaan says coolly. “You’d never have to land.” He turns his attention away from Ben. “Your boy’s got a mouth on him.”

Ben opens his mouth to respond, but his dad gets there first, sending a winning smile towards Milaan.

“Learned from the best,” he says, before his expression turns serious. “And he’s right, twelve thousand’s a joke.”

“I heard you owe Ducain at least thirty,” Milaan says quietly, holding his dad’s gaze. “It’d be a pity if you weren’t able to show him something for his troubles.”

Ben bites the inside of his lip, and notices his dad’s eyes flick towards him for a second, before returning to Milaan. He’s not mentioned Ducain to Ben at all, but nor has he denied Milaan’s claim. The sinking feeling in Ben’s stomach tells him he must be in the dark about something.

“You know as well as I do that this job is worth at least twenty five,” his dad says, staring down Milaan. “You could get some chump to do it for twelve, sure. But he’ll lose half your shipment, and then that’ll bring you a whole world of trouble. Or worse, he gets stopped by the First Order and _blabs_.”

“I have no quarrel with the First Order,” Milaan replies casually. “But as you’re an old friend, we can call it fifteen.”

“Then there are the New Republic’s searches to worry about — they’re cracking down on _everything_ now, what with the Order turning up the heat.”

“What’s your price?” Milaan asks, his voice snippy, patience wearing thin.

Ben watches as his dad casts around for a figure that he’s been set on for at least two minutes.

“I guess we could scrape by on twenty,” he says. He holds Milaan's gaze, neither of them blinking until at last Milaan gives in.

"Fine. Twenty it is.” Milaan's not happy about it, but Ben doesn't care. What he cares about is getting a half decent price for the job, especially if his dad has a thirty grand debt hanging over him. Or _them_ , rather. Ducain will come for all of them to get his money. He won't swallow any sob stories they conjure up. As his dad and Milaan shake on the deal, Ben relaxes, just a little, at the idea of clearing the bulk of the debt by the end of the week.

The three of them head back out towards the Falcon. It’s some distance — this craggy little planet has very few safe landing spaces, and they have to climb up a steep rocky trail before they reach the flat outcrop where they had left the Falcon.

Except it’s not there.

Ben looks to his dad, whose mouth is ajar.

 _Where is it?_ Chewie asks.

“It _was_ here, right?” his dad says. He pulls a torch from his inside jacket pocket and shines it into the darkness. It illuminates nothing but the pale rock face, and the marks in the gravel from where the Falcon had previously stood.

Ben grits his teeth and tries to ignore the swell of panic rising within him. They’re _stranded_. No ship, all their stuff gone, most of his credits are shoved in the back of his locker…

Chewie huffs and drops down onto a large rock, arms resting on his knees. Ben waits, his palms sweating, as his dad walks slowly around the outcrop, dazed by the disappearance.

“Dad.” His voice cracks, and Ben looks towards the sky in frustration.

“It’s okay,” his dad says quietly. “We’ll figure it out.”

But there’s nothing _to_ figure out. The ship’s gone, and all of their belongings with it. That ship has been the only thing Ben has been able to call home in _years_ , and now it’s been snatched from them, and all they’re left with are the clothes on their backs.

There’s a soft boom. In the distance, Ben can see Milaan’s ship taking off, and he wonders if he knew all along. He wonders if that’s why he agreed so readily to the price, because he knew he’d never have to pay it.

He wonders if there was ever a job at all. Or whether it was just a trap all along.

All of his stuff is on the Falcon, every piece of the little life he’s constructed for himself since he left the temple. His calligraphy set, all his clothes, trinkets and souvenirs he’s picked up along the way.

His lightsaber, too.

The thought of that being in someone else’s hands fills him with dread. He doesn’t want it for himself, but he certainly doesn’t want anyone else to have it. He made it himself, it’s his, no one else’s. And it had always been security — if things got a little too sketchy he could have always brought it to bear.

But there’s nothing left. Just rocks and dust and the biting wind.

His panic changes, shifting within him, turning from an icy bottomless white to a glowing, pulsing red. Somebody’s fucked them over.

Because his dad doesn’t pay his debts.

Ben’s hands are shaking now, and he presses them to his face. They trap his breath against his skin, and he feels like he’s being suffocated by his own exhalations. It’s like he’s falling, hard and fast and with no way of ever stopping. Or maybe he’s drowning, darkness flooding up in his lungs. But there’s poison too, rushing through his veins. And laughter, rising up in the back of his head.

_Foolish boy. Did you really think he could ever give you the life you’re owed?_

Before he knows what he’s doing, his hand is on his blaster, and he’s firing shot after shot after shot into the rock face. It begins to crumble, pieces flying off of it in huge chunks and sending shudders through the ground as they come crashing down. The whole cliffside begins to falter, and dust plumes up from the ground as the thunderous destruction continues. The noise makes his brain feel as if it’s vibrating in his skull, but he doesn’t care because anything, _anything_ is better than _that voice_ , which he has gone for so long without hearing.

It feels as though his life is falling apart around him, that he’s being dragged back to square one, of being plagued by nightmares and having nowhere to go. His vision blurs, his eyes full of tears, and his hand is squeezing his blaster so tightly that it hurts, but he can’t stop. He just wants to destroy this whole stupid cliff and all the misfortune it’s brought them.

“ _BEN!_ ”

His name echoes out in the night and Ben stops, his stomach plummeting. He drops his blaster and turns to his dad. Under the moonlight he looks ghostly pale. The shout echoes around inside Ben’s head. His dad hasn’t shouted at him this whole time, and the sound shocks him back to reality.

“You’re scaring me,” he says softly. Chewie’s at his side now, having abandoned his makeshift seat. Ben presses his lips together, guilt surging within him as the rage recedes. His dad crosses the gap between them and puts his arms around him, holding him tightly.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he says. “I promise.”

“All my stuff’s on there,” Ben replies, his voice cracking. That’s not even the problem. His whole life is on that ship. Never mind his calligraphy set and his clothes. That ship is the only stable home he’s had in years. The only place he’s ever been happy. The only place he’s ever felt safe.

“I’ll get it back. I _promise_.”

“What are we gonna do?”

His dad pulls away from him, a lopsided smile on his face. “You think I haven’t come back from far worse than this?”

Ben looks down and kicks the gravel, sending it skittering across the ground. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I got...” He doesn’t want to tell his dad he got scared. He might decide that this life is too much for him, might try and persuade him to go home, especially now they don’t have a ship. It’s game over, at least for a little while.

“You got what?” his dad asks delicately.

And somehow, the worse truth is far easier to tell him. “I heard him. Again.”

There’s a flicker in his dad’s eyes, but it’s the only sense of concern he shows. “How long’s it been?” he asks.

“ _Months_.”

His dad grips him by the shoulder a little too tightly and gives him what he assumes is supposed to be a reassuring shake. “Okay kid,” he murmurs. “That’d throw anyone for a loop.”

Ben looks across to Chewie who merely waits, his brown eyes glinting in the dark. There’s no sense of distrust emanating from him, despite the fact that he’s just seen Ben blow up half the cliffside. A little of the anxiety in him dissipates.

“I know it’s hard,” his dad says, drawing Ben’s attention back to him. “But when things go sideways, the most important thing is to keep your cool. Even if you’re freaking out inside.”

Ben says nothing. Things have gone sideways because his dad doesn’t pay his debts. The easiest way to deal with that is not to get into debt in the first place. He doesn’t say that of course. It wouldn’t help matters to start apportioning blame. But the low level sense of resentment remains nonetheless.

His dad takes a step away, tapping buttons on his wrist-link and listening for a response. It doesn’t come and so he taps again.

 _Come here_.

Chewie’s soft wail breaks through the darkness and Ben goes over to him. He throws his arm around Ben’s shoulders, holding him against his side. Chewie’s fur itches the back of Ben’s neck, but he’s far too miserable to say anything. His stomach is churning too, the voice echoing around and around in his head. He’s managed to evade it for so long, and now it’s found him, out in the middle of nowhere.

It’s as though Snoke is waiting, ready to pounce the second Ben takes his eye off the ball. He covers his face with his hands and breathes deeply, trying to force every last thought of Snoke out of his mind. But the more he tries, the harder it is, and the image of him forms in Ben’s mind, growing bigger and bigger and bigger until he is towering over Ben, all icy rage and viciousness.

Ben drops his hands and gulps in a lungful of cold air. He can’t let himself fall into a trap like that. He needs to carry on as normal. As he has for the last several months. He needs to get into his bunk and go to sleep at a normal time and wake up with sand in his bed.

But he can’t do any of those things. Not now.

A flash catches his eye, and his gaze lands upon his discarded blaster. If he doesn’t have his lightsaber anymore then it’s his most reliable weapon. He moves away from Chewie, whose arm slips from his shoulders, and goes to pick it up. He wipes the gritty dust from the shaft with his cuff, which stains beige at the contact, then slips the blaster back into its holster.

His dad is a dozen paces away, talking quietly into his wrist-link. His lips curve into a brief smile and he winks at Ben, before returning to his conversation. Ben heads back towards the side of the outcrop and sits down on one of the boulders.

Eventually, his dad joins him, and they wait, minutes ticking by interminably slowly. He’s beginning to get cold, and he zips up his jacket, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. The rock is cold against his legs, the chill seeping through his pants and numbing the backs of his thighs. It feels like he’ll never get warm again.

Ben stares at the sky, counting the stars and drawing the constellations in his head. A breeze causes him to dip his head, tucking his chin behind the upturned collar of his jacket, but then he hears a hum in the distance. He looks up, squinting into the night as it grows louder, a couple of bright white pinpricks moving through the sky.

The ship grows larger and larger, and sweeps down to the outcrop, engines humming loudly. The ramp descends, and after a few moments, a familiar face appears.

“Need a ride?”

He is immaculate, and his bright smile lifts Ben’s spirit far better than anything else could.

“Lando,” he breathes, and gets up from the rock and crosses the distance to the ramp. He strides up it, accepting Lando’s firm hug, before heading for a much warmer seat in the main hold.

The journey back to Bespin is smooth and slow. Lando’s ship is equipped with the latest gadgets, and Ben sits in a comfy chair with a frothy coffee, listening to his dad and Lando talking quietly in the cockpit. By the time they reach Cloud City, the sun is starting to breach the horizon, colouring the dawn sky pink and orange.

Lando’s apartment has views across the city, and the sunlight reflects off of each elegantly shaped building, the panoramic windows glinting.

“So,” Lando says, as he places a pile of blankets on one couch for Chewie. He turns back to the cupboard, and pulls out another pile, which he hands to Ben. “Aside from this evening’s hiccup, how are you finding working with your old man?”

Ben skews his lips to the side. He’s still shaken from everything that happened on the cliffside, from the sound of Snoke’s voice, which has receded to a tiny shrivelled black seed at the back of his brain. But aside from this? Aside from the _disaster_ this evening?

“It’s really good,” he says eventually, arranging the pillows on the couch before he spreads the blankets over it. “Really good,” he says again, nodding, as though having come to terms with his answer in the intervening time.

“Good,” Lando says, and he claps him on the back. “You’ll have a lot of fun, see a lot of the galaxy, get into a few scrapes…it’s all good fun.”

“Yeah,” Ben agrees halfheartedly. He’s not sure he wants to get into scrapes like this one very often. There must be something in his tone that Lando detects, because he takes a step closer, speaking in a low voice that Chewie can’t hear from the other side of the room.

“Don’t worry Benny boy,” he says, squeezing Ben’s shoulder. “I’ve got a ship the two of you can use until you get the Falcon back.”

“Thanks Lando,” Ben replies, his shoulders sagging in relief. He doesn’t have to go home. That’s one blessing at least. He’s not ready to go home yet — he’s not sure he’ll ever be ready. He’ll load crates in any corner of the galaxy before he’ll give in to that. He’ll wait tables at Maz’s castle if he has to. But he can’t bear to go home.

“You gonna be all right in here?” Lando asks. He glances across to Chewie, then back to Ben. “With the snoring?”

Ben’s lips tug into a reluctant smile and he looks down at the thickly carpeted floor. “I’ll be fine,” he says. “Thanks.”

Lando gives his shoulder one final squeeze, then pulls him into a brief hug, kissing the side of Ben’s head. “It’s good to have you back,” he says. “I know your old man’s pleased to have his boy on board.”

Lando knows about the temple. That much is clear. Whether it was his mother or his dad or even _Luke_ that told him, it’s obvious he knows. But Ben smiles once more, a small, uncertain smile, and Lando responds with a dazzling, confident smile of his own.

Ben wonders where he learned to do that.

As he lays there in the dark, Chewie’s snoring echoing around him, Ben stares up at the darkened ceiling. The couch is just a little too short for him, but not wide enough for him to pull his legs up to his chest without tipping off the edge. And so he lays there, knees bent and resting against the back of the couch.

He’s far too hot, and he wonders how much of the sun is able to seep through the thick windows, and whether the blackouts are exacerbating its effect. He looks over to Chewie, who is huddled up under three blankets, the one closest to his nose fluttering between each snore.

It’s another hour before he falls into a fitful sleep, permeated by darkness and the persistent tug of gravity, dragging him down, down, down. When he wakes, he’s covered in sweat, and the light shining in through the windows blinds him. Someone’s removed the blackouts.

After a moment or two, his senses return to him. His eyes adjust to the light, and he can smell food. He fidgets on the sofa, and feels a familiar grittiness that is a permanent part of his life now, no matter where he is. He rolls off the couch, landing on his feet and pushing himself up. He can feel the sand fall away from him as he stretches and breathes deeply, then he looks down at the couch cushions.

There’s more sand than ever. As though it’s trying to make a point.

“Where’d that come from?” Lando asks, as he hands Ben a hot cup of coffee.

“Me,” Ben says sleepily. “Sorry. I’ll clean it up.”

As Ben sets his coffee down, he sees Lando look towards his dad, who shrugs, and they say no more about it.


	10. Chapter 10

_SIX YEARS LATER_

* * *

He skids into the corridor and sends a couple of shots in each direction. He hears two yells, distorted by voice modulators, and he breaks into a sprint. If he can get back to the hangar, they can make it out of this.

He just has to run.

His lungs burn as his feet stamp into the ground. He forces himself to go faster, ignoring the painful contractions in his calves. It’s less than a minute away, he’s certain.

It doesn’t help that he misjudges the corner, colliding with a large metal container that will leave a nasty bruise on his hip. He feels the heat of a blaster shot graze his cheek, missing him by millimetres, and ducks behind the container, firing into the corridor.

Another yell, and the heavy clatter of armour as the Stormtrooper falls to the floor.

It’s only forty-five seconds away, _surely_.

He takes a deep breath, then rises, darting around the container and hurtling down to the next corner. He reaches out with his mind, trying to gauge what lies ahead, and before he’s even processed it, he’s shooting his blaster, red beams colliding with white armour as three more troopers fall to the floor, leaving the coast clear.

Ben’s heart thumps in his chest, but he’s nearly there. He knows he’s nearly there. He can hear the whirring of cooling fans, the hum of the recharging pods, and the clatter of tools.

It’s _not_ far.

He rounds the last corner, and through the open doorway he can see the ship on the far side of the hangar. He pushes down all aches and pains and complaints from his body, and presses on one last time. He races across the hangar, but he sees the oil spill far too late.

His feet slip out from under him and he hits the concrete hard, the entire left side of his body taking the brunt of the impact. His blaster skids across the floor, only to be stopped by a white boot, and Ben bites his lip, anticipating what comes next.

Two pairs of hands pull him roughly to his feet, gripping his shoulders tightly. He’s at least a head taller than each of them, and he’s about to try and make a break for it. But in the gaps between the landing gears of other ships, he sees his dad and Chewie, and a dozen Stormtroopers with their blasters primed.

Now is not the time to fight.

The Stormtroopers haul him towards the transport, cuffing his wrists and shoving him into the back. He takes a seat, nodding politely to the other captives. They’re all faces he’s familiar with. All people who have been flouting the First Order’s new trade laws.

“Thought you might get away, kid,” Nidden says gruffly from the corner of the transport, tentatively testing the binders on his thick wrists. Ben shakes his head.

“I wish,” he replies. “Although not sure the old man woulda been able to keep up, you know?” He says it just loudly enough that his dad can hear, and Nidden laughs, glancing towards the entrance. Chewie lumbers on board first, wailing his protests, before dropping heavily into a seat. Ben nods towards his dad as he follows up the rear, and his dad lets a small sigh escape. Whether it’s one of relief or disappointment, Ben can’t tell. Even after all these years on the run with him, his dad is still a mystery to him at times.

“You okay, kid?” he asks.

Ben nods. They’ve been in far worse situations before. They’ll be taken up to a cruiser, roughed up a little, held for a few days, and then released when the First Order realise that taking them out of the equation incites protests when people can’t get their grains, their booze, or their cigarettes. Admittedly this time they’d been gunrunning, alongside the rathtar gig. But the First Order doesn’t need to know about the rathtar gig. The gunrunning is plenty for them to be getting on with.

The transport doors seal shut, and the lights overhead flicker. They’re left to their own devices, the Stormtroopers filing into the front section. It’s a few minutes before the engines hum into life, causing the lights to flicker again.

“That you? Or is this thing just a piece of junk?” His dad’s mumble is barely audible, but it filters through from Chewie’s other side.

Ben shakes his head minutely. He’s not risking using the Force. He’s not used it explicitly in six years. Nothing beyond his own senses. No interference. It’s been the only way to stay safe, to stay hidden.

He’s not foolish enough to use it now, right under the nose of Snoke’s minions. He hasn’t come this far to throw it all away in a thoughtless stunt.

The journey to the cruiser is surprisingly relaxed. Nidden makes small talk with the others, most of whom have been caught a handful of times before. They’re all old hands at this, they know the ebb and flow of the First Order’s whims. When the transport grinds to a halt, they all stay seated, and eventually, the doors are hauled open, a cold blast of air hitting them.

One by one they’re taken outside, each with a Stormtrooper flanking them. Chewie and Nidden are graced with two Stormtroopers each, and they line up for registration. Ben looks towards the hangar door, past the grey transports to the infinite strip of black, faintly tinted by the hazy purple atmosphere of the planet below.

“Name?”

“Ben Organa,” he says, through gritted teeth. The paperwork had been easy enough to get hold of, and Leia had pushed it through the system in her last days in office.

“Origin?”

“Chandrila.”

He waits, his wrists sweaty under his binders, and the seconds stretch into hours until the data screen blips with a match, and a flickering green image of himself comes up from a few years ago. He was skinnier then, his shoulders narrower. The officer at the desk eyes the picture and then looks up at him and nods. He can move on to the group without bounties hanging over their heads.

His dad is more of an issue. Decades of gallivanting about the galaxy and being an infamous general from the previous war have their own issues. But if there are bounties to add to the mix too…

“Name?”

“Han Organa.”

“Origin?”

“Corellia.”

Ben holds his breath, waiting for the data screen to flash either green or red. But before it can sort through its databanks and bring up his dad’s info, a voice echoes throughout the hangar.

“Stop!”

Ben whips his head around to see a small figure, cloaked in black and flanked by a dozen Stormtroopers. The officer at the registration desk freezes, the screen going blank. He stands to attention, saluting the newcomer, and Ben moves past Nidden to squint in his direction.

 _Ansad_.

He shouldn’t be surprised. The little weasel was always power hungry. Always trying to make up for being the shortest student at the temple. He had been fuelled by a need to prove himself, to Luke, to the others — who didn’t spare him a second thought — and most especially, to Ben.

“Well well,” Ansad says smugly, and he stops short just a few paces from Ben. “If it isn’t the Prince of Alderaan.”

Anger flares in Ben’s muscles but he stays stock still. “Hey Amstrad,” he says coolly.

“ _Ansad._ ” He hisses the correction, then purses his lips, a bitter expression on his face. Even though he’s a year younger than Ben, his blond hair is already thinning, and there are dark circles under his eyes.

Snoke has chosen a back up.

Ben has no sympathy for him. Whatever the situation, he had a choice. And he can just imagine Ansad jumping at the chance to be Snoke’s apprentice. He probably thought it would give him the power he had craved for so long. He can just imagine the snivelling little shit, begging Snoke to take him on. 

“Do you know what _I_ have, Solo? And have had for…ooh at least four _long_ years?”

“A growth deficiency?”

A snigger spreads around the room, and Ben can detect just a hint of mechanical distortion — some of the Stormtroopers are laughing too. A rage flashes flashes in Ansad’s eyes and he raises one shaking finger, pointing it at Ben.

“You watch yourself, Solo. Or I’ll —”

“What?” Ben asks delicately as he crosses the distance between them, until they’re toe to toe. If Ben was tall and a little gangly back then, he’s enormous now, and clearly Ansad sees that, as he’s forced to crane his neck up to even look at him. His lip curls, and he reaches for something in his belt.

“I have _this_ ,” Ansad says softly. “Have you missed it?”

He unhooks a lightsaber from his belt and ignites it, the blade flashing blue before Ben’s face. He can feel the energy emanating from it, the heat making the skin of his cheek begin to smart. He stands his ground though. If he takes even half a step back, Ansad will be delighted.

Ben can’t have that.

Ansad extinguishes the lightsaber, and with a wave of his hands, Ben’s binders drop from his wrists onto Ansad’s feet. Only a twitch of his jaw belies the pain of it, and Ben can’t help himself.

“You okay there?”

“You’re all mouth,” Ansad sneers, his watery blue eyes dilated with hatred. “But let’s see how you fare when it comes to real life. Take it.” He holds out Ben’s lightsaber, and Ben looks down at it. He can see Ansad’s fingerprints on the gleaming hilt, and there was a time when that would have made him furious. But as far as he’s concerned, Ansad can keep it. It’s a part of himself that Ben doesn’t want back. Not ever.

“I’m good thanks.”

“Take it,” Ansad repeats through gritted teeth. “And _fight_ me _._ ”

Ben shakes his head.

“ _Fight me_!” Ansad screams. The sound pierces Ben’s eardrums, its shrillness drilling into his brain. Clearly Ansad is used to getting what he wants, and so Ben gives it to him.

His fist moves faster than Ansad can detect, and it collides with Ansad’s nose, sending him flying backwards, into his entourage of Stormtroopers. One of those still standing looks down at Ansad, then across at Ben, and raises his blaster halfheartedly, then shrugs. His trigger finger remains wrapped around the handle.

If his dad has taught him anything, it’s to never half ass the things that matter. Half ass everything else, but the things that matter deserve to be tended properly. And so Ben steps towards Ansad again, who is pushing himself off of the pile of Stormtroopers that broke his fall. Scarlet stains his mouth and chin, and his nose is already swelling.

That’s another thing his dad taught him.

“He still reaches out you know,” Ben tells him. “He still wants me. You _do_ realise that you were, at _best_ , his second choice?” It’s not something Ben ever thought he’d be bragging about. Snoke’s attention has brought him a near lifetime of misery. But it matters to Ansad, who has been embarrassed in front of his men, in front of his prisoners, in almost every way possible.

 _Almost._

“You’re _lying_ ,” Ansad spits, flecking the floor with blood. “ _I’m_ his faithful apprentice. You’re a _coward_.”

“What’s the phrase he uses whenever he talks about you? When he’s _begging_ me to come and join him. Promising me the galaxy and everything in it…” Ben feigns a pause and casts his eyes up to the cavernous ceiling. “Got it,” he says in mock triumph. “ _Distinctly disappointing_.”

“ _Liar_.”

Ben shakes his head, then turns his attention to the huddle of Stormtroopers. “You know your boss used to jerk off in his ship,” Ben retorts. It’s stupid. He shouldn’t go this far back, not when they’re so woefully outgunned. But he returns his gaze to Ansad nonetheless. He’s in too deep now. “You _do_ know that that’s not what you’re supposed to do in a _cockpit_.”

“ _Liar_ ,” Ansad says again, though there is a crack in his voice that suggests Ben’s hit a very deep seated nerve. He wipes his nose with his black sleeve, smearing blood across the lower half of his face.

“No,” Ben says.

“ _Yes_ ,” Ansad replies adamantly.

“There’s a cum rag on Jakku that says otherwise,” he quips, and the prisoners’ bareley suppressed giggles erupt into roars of laughter. Nidden’s deep chuckle echoes around the hangar, attracting the attention of other officers, and the mechanics who are tending to a TIE fighter. They down tools and step away from the ship, watching curiously.

There’s a flicker in Ansad’s eyes that almost speaks of betrayal, but then a cruel and bloody smile forms on his thin lips.

“I’ll wipe that smug smile off your face, Solo.” He turns to the Stormtroopers. “Cuff him. I’m taking him to the Supreme Leader.”

Ben’s world dissolves into darkness, the air disappearing from his lungs. He feels like he’s falling through the depths of space, time passing by in minuscule increments as he approaches his sad finale.

“Like hell you are!”

A blaster shot fires across the hangar, catching Ansad in the chest. Ben spins around to see his dad, wrists still bound, wielding Rontu’s stupidly tiny blaster. Ben had no idea he even still had it — or how the hell he’d managed to smuggle it past the weapons checks.

Gunfire erupts around them, and the prisoners take it as an opportunity to revolt. Ben’s shoved aside as Nidden slams his fist into one Stormtrooper’s helmet and earns himself a blaster.

Ben’s own blaster is still locked up on the transport, and he knows there’s only one thing for it.

He reaches out his hand, and focuses.

The lightsaber flies into his grip, as if it were only yesterday when he last touched it. He ignites it, assessing the situation as a blaster is raised in his direction. He deflects the shot with one dextrous whirl of his weapon, and it rebounds, taking out the soldier who fired it.

In the moment, he can only focus on causing as much damage as possible. They need to get away from here, and _fast_. If Snoke knows he’s here, if _anyone_ has alerted him, then he could be just minutes away from disaster.

Ben hits the ground, and rolls over to see Ansad, lying on the floor, clutching his chest with one hand, and reaching out with the other. He feels the tightening around his throat, but responds in kind, until Ansad’s grip drops and his eyes roll back into his head.

He scrambles to his feet, throwing a glance over his shoulder to check that both his dad and Chewie are okay. Chewie has a couple of blasters, firing them off at every First Order agent he sees. It’s all the more impressive given his bindings, but Ben realises his dad is taking care of that, tapping information into the data screen on the registration booth, until the bindings fall from everyone’s wrists.

A blaster shot misses Ben by inches, and he throws up a hand to stop it just short of the back of Nidden’s head. Once its path is clear, Ben releases it, and swings around, taking out the legs of the perpetrator with his lightsaber. He turns to the next Stormtrooper, who immediately holds his hands up.

“I don’t wanna die like this,” he says. Though his voice is crackly thanks to the modulator in his helmet, Ben can hear the fear in his voice.

“I don’t either,” he says. “But I also don’t want you to shoot me in the back when I’m escaping.”

The Stormtrooper drops his blaster and it lands on the floor with a clatter. Ben sighs and looks down at the floor. This could be his stupidest move yet.

“They’ll kill you for that alone,” he tells the Stormtrooper.

“Can I come with you?” he asks, before Ben can even make the offer.

“Take your helmet off.” Ben tells him. He follows instructions swiftly, and when he drops the dusty white dome to the floor, Ben can see that he’s just a kid — eighteen or nineteen tops. “Get in the transport,” he says, and the kid doesn’t need telling twice. He scurries across the hangar dodging blaster fire and throws himself in through the back doors.

There are only a couple of Stormtroopers left now, but if they leave it any longer, they’ll be taking on a whole army.

“Everybody on board!” Ben yells, and he sees his dad and Chewie pull open the front doors of the transport, hurrying into the cockpit.

The prisoners rush back, Nidden leading up the rear as he thumps one last Stormtrooper on top of the head. He turns back to Ben, his deep voice rumbling across the hangar.

“We can’t take off without permission from the command deck!”

Ben swears, and extinguishes his lightsaber. He looks around, and in the far corner sees the hangar’s control room. A pale face stares out at him through the window, but Ben doesn’t care to wonder who it is. He raises his hand, muscles tensing, and pulls at the metal. A deep guttural grinding reverberates throughout the hangar, and Ben tightens his focus.

“ _Size doesn’t matter. It never has. It never will._ ”

They’re Luke’s words that rise up in his memory, from one of his very first lessons, back in the earliest days of the temple. He’d been talking about rocks then, and the transition from tiny pebbles to large smooth stones. It had seemed such an enormous leap at the time.

He can feel a vein throbbing in his temple, but he forces himself to keep his eyes on the deck as it falters, one corner dropping abruptly.

Just a little more.

He grits his teeth, a growl building in the back of his throat, and with an enormous wrench the whole thing comes away from the body of the ship. It seems like it falls in slow motion, but then it crashes into the hangar floor, crushing four TIE fighters, flames bursting forth from within its crumpled wreckage.

“Good job, kid!” his dad yells. “Get over here!” Ben sprints to the transport, exhaustion seeping into every part of his body. He practically falls through the door, and Chewie hauls him in, slamming the door shut behind him. His dad takes off, taking the transport to full speed as soon as the rickety chassis will permit.

“Can you take out the guns?” his dad asks.

Ben looks through the viewport, and lets out a soft sigh, then pushes himself up. He’s going to have to, if they want even the faintest chance of survival.

He closes his eyes, and reaches out. He doesn’t need to destroy them completely. Not like the hangar control room. But he does need to alter them. He focuses on the main cannon— if he passes out, then they can probably scrape past a few shots from the smaller ones. The cannon is attached to the ship with solid rivets, and Ben concentrates, pouring all his energy into those rivets, until he feels something _pop_. He opens his eyes, craning his neck until he can see the cannon drifting aimlessly away from the body of the ship.

But he can’t do anymore. He slumps in his seat, hoping it will be enough. By the time First Order have understood what’s happened in the hangar, they’ll have made planet fall, and none of them will be sticking around.

They touch down with a bump, and Chewie reaches across Ben to throw the door open. He chivvies Ben out, then catches him when Ben’s legs fail beneath his weight, and hauls him back towards their own ship.

The rest of the smugglers file out of the back, hurrying back to their respective ships, and last to come out is the now ex-Stormtrooper.

“What do I do?” he asks.

Ben’s in no fit state to formulate an escape plan for him, but his dad steps in. “Go ask Nidden if he’s taking on crew. He’ll give you food and board in exchange for work.”

The kid nods, and starts towards Nidden’s ship, but then turns on his heel. “Where do I get a name from?” he asks.

“Well they don’t just give ‘em out, pal. Pick one yourself.”

The kid looks around, twining his hands together.

“What about…” Ben casts his mind around, and a word rises up in his head. He remembers briefly another lost kid, struggling to find a place in the world. “Ray?”

The kid’s face lights up. “Ray!” he says nodding. “Yeah, that’s me! I’m Ray!”

“Well you better hurry Ray,” Ben’s dad says. “Nidden’s not gonna hang around.”

Ray beams at them before sprinting over to Nidden’s ship and entering into a brief negotiation with the last member of the crew on the ramp. After a moment, Ray receives a clap on the back by way of a welcome aboard, and the ramp rises, engines firing up.

Ben’s feet scuff against the floor as Chewie half carries him back to the ship. His dad hangs back to collect both of their blasters — the last in the weapons cage — and follows on.

_Will you be all right?_

“Fine, Chewie,” Ben sighs as he sinks onto the bench in the main hold. “I just need to rest.”

Chewie squeezes his arm before abandoning him in favour of the cockpit. Ben slips into unconsciousness with ease, only briefly registering the feeling of someone slipping a blanket over him and ruffling his hair.

When he wakes, it’s dark, and he’s in his own bed. He feels the grittiness of sand beneath him, and he swings his legs out of the bed and sits up. His fingers grip the edge of the mattress tightly as he tiredly tries to process everything.

Ansad — Snoke’s apprentice. And thanks to his own smart mouth, Ben now has a target on his back.

Sometimes, he’s far too much like his dad.

They had come so close to disaster. But then it’s not the first time they’ve had a narrow escape. But Snoke had felt so close this time. One misstep, one flaw in their haphazard escape and Ben would be at his mercy right now.

Their IDs are probably useless now. There must be strikes against their names, and maybe even bounties out for them. They’ll have to tread carefully. There are very few corners of the galaxy where Ansad’s spite won’t take him.

Ben pushes himself off of his bed and feels around for his boots. He shoves his feet into them, then jabs the control panel with his thumb, the doors sliding open. His eyes adjust to the red glow of the corridor, and he heads for the main deck, his footsteps echoing down the long empty corridor.

“Hey kid,” his dad greets him as Ben slips into the seat next to his. The ship is on autopilot, heading for the Outer Rim, far away from the First Order. “How you feeling?”

“Fine,” Ben replies absentmindedly. He rubs at his face and suppresses a yawn as he stares out at the stars ahead of them. “How long has it been?”

“Day and a half,” his dad replies, glancing across to him. “You sure you’re okay?”

Ben nods, but it’s difficult to process the information. He doesn’t feel like any time has passed at all, that it could have been minutes ago when he passed out in the main hold of their landing craft.

His dad makes him some food, and once Ben’s eaten, it’s only then that he turns to him with a heavy expression on his lined face.

“You know it’s coming, don’t you?”

Ben nods, his teeth tugging on the inside of his lower lip. He doesn’t need to ask what _it_ is. The First Order is gaining more and more territory by the day, and Snoke’s grip on the galaxy tightens. All the while, the New Republic is being beaten back, shrinking and shrinking as darkness pervades across the galaxy.

“We’re gonna have to go home soon. And join your mom.”

Ben stares at the console, and doesn’t say anything. He has no desire to see Leia at all. But she’s already banding together a Resistance. He’s heard whispers of it these past months, has seen the red logo graffitied on walls across the galaxy.

She’s recruiting.

“I know it’s not what you want, but —”

“What I want doesn’t matter,” Ben says quickly.

“I’m not saying that —”

“It’s true,” Ben says, and he turns to look at his dad. “And that’s fine.”

His dad holds his gaze for a moment, then nods, and turns back towards the viewport. “I’m not saying we have to go back right now,” he continues. “But when I say, we go, all right? No arguing, no bargaining. We go. And we stick together, all right?”

It’s the most serious his dad has been in years.

“Yeah,” Ben says quietly. “Okay Dad.”

There’s a thud deep in the belly of the ship, and Ben leans forward to check the security footage. One of the rathtars has just thumped a wall with one thick tentacle. It’s fine though. The cells will hold them, no problem.

Ben leans back in his seat, and tries to ignore the countdown happening in the back of his mind.


	11. Chapter 11

Ben gets up and brushes the sand out of his bed. He frowns, the last of his dreams slipping away from him. There had been a droid of some sort. Maybe. He can’t remember.

He showers, the water washing the sand away from him as he shampoos his hair, raking his fingers through it before rinsing it off. Something about the night still lingers, and he tries to shake it off. It wasn’t a bad dream as such, it wasn’t really anything at all. Maybe just the binary chirping of a droid.

Maybe he’s losing it.

Ben gets dressed then gives his damp hair one final going over with the towel. He rubs it roughly, then combs it into a semi neat state. His holster is next, and he slings it around his hips, blaster batting at his thigh. In the back of his locker, his lightsaber gleams, just like it has for the past few weeks.

And just like _he_ has for the past few weeks, Ben slams the door on it.

Chewie’s eating breakfast when Ben arrives in the main hold. There’s coffee in the pot, and so Ben pours himself a cup and slips into a seat.

“Did you feed them?” Ben asks.

 _Yesterday_ , Chewie replies. _They’ll be fine until tomorrow._

Ben nods, and settles more comfortably into his seat. They should be approaching their drop off point soon. Only a few more days carting these loathsome beasts across the galaxy, and then they’ll start all over again. A new job, something else — hopefully less dangerous — to fill the belly of this enormous ship.

After a little while, Ben wanders into the galley to find something to eat. He’s halfway through chewing his bun when an alarm sounds. He chokes mid-swallow, and forces the lump of bun down his throat before discarding the rest and sprinting towards the flight deck.

There’s only one alarm that makes a sound like that.

“Dad!” he yells, barely able to believe what he’s seeing. He flicks the switches to turn on the tractor beam and shuts down power remotely. His heart is thumping, hands quivering with excitement, and he tries to convince itself that it could be any old freighter.

But there’s a spark of hope in the pit of his stomach. Because it could be _their_ freighter.

His dad rushes onto the flight deck, his boots half laced, his eyes still bleary with sleep. He looks at the screen, then lurches forward over the console to see if he can see the ship through the viewport. There is a tiny grey dot but nothing more distinguishable than that.

They grab Chewie and hurry down to the hangar. The ship draws closer, and somehow it looks older than it does in Ben’s memory. But his heart swells at the sight of it, home coming back to them at last.

The Falcon lands with a thud, and Chewie steps forward to press the button for the ramp. It descends, and Ben takes a step forward, his hand grabbing the sleeve of his dad’s jacket, tugging him along. The three of them ascend the ramp together, and Ben feels an innate sense of calm wash over him. He’s spent more time apart from this ship than he did with it, but it has always held that crucial place in his heart. It has always been a place of safety for him.

But somebody else has had it. And that somebody might be prepared to fight for it.

“Chewie,” his dad says. “Ben, we’re _home_.”

Ben can’t help the smile that forms on his face, and it’s still there when he pulls his blaster, ready to take out anybody who tries to lay claim to the ship.

His dad is checking out the nearest control panel for records of flight data, trying to figure out the puzzle of his missing ship. But then there’s the high pitched rattle of a spanner dropping to the floor, and Chewie follows the noise. The three of them crowd around the offending floor panel, and Chewie pokes his fingers through the grating, lifting the panel clean away.

There are two people down there, and his dad points his blaster at them.

“Where are the others?” he demands. “Where’s the pilot?”

“I’m the pilot!” the girl says, breath fogging her oxygen mask. “I’m the pilot!” And then her eyes land on him and she rips the mask off. “Ben!”

His dad gives him a look as the girl hauls herself out of the recess.

“You know this guy?” her friend asks.

“He saved my life,” she says, staring at Ben as though she can’t believe he’s real.

His dad’s eyebrow only quirks higher, and Ben takes a step back.

“Did I?” he asks slowly, looking at the girl. He’s sure he’d remember doing something like that. Maybe she’s gotten him confused with somebody else. He’s not seen a girl like her on any of their travels. Most people he meets have far harder expressions on their faces. Her wide-eyed wonder is something quite different.

But she knows his name.

“You did!” she says, taking a step forward, looking him up and down. “I had desert fever a couple of years ago. Those extra portions kept me alive!”

Portions. Something stirs in the back of his brain, and when she turns to look at his dad, he sees her hair tied into three messy little knots. She turns back to look at him, her smile impossibly wider.

“Is that your dad?” she asks. “You _do_ look like him.”

His dad opens his mouth to say something, a concerned frown on his face, but the pieces are falling into place for Ben. Now that she’s closer he can see the light smattering of freckles that have faded into her weatherbeaten skin. She’s grown into her teeth too — hence the big smile. And whereas before she was painfully thin, she’s now tall, lean, and wiry. There’s a more certain strength to her, a sturdiness that he wouldn’t have associated with the girl who fixed his ship all those years ago.

“ _Rey_?”

“Yes!” She’s overjoyed that he remembers, and she flings her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

Her friend looks displeased, and Ben pats her awkwardly on the back. She must be so lonely. _Still_.

“Where d’you get the ship?” his dad asks the friend.

“She stole it.” The friend points to Rey, who releases Ben and turns to address his dad.

“Niima outpost,” she says.

Ben shakes his head. _Jakku_. They’d toyed with the idea of checking out the Western Reaches but had never managed to find the time. He could kick himself now. His dad and Chewie descend into bickering while they get the story of the ship out of Rey.

“Well,” his dad says, bristling at the detail — Ducain (of _course_ ), the Irving Boys, and Unkar _Plutt_ of all people. “You tell him that Han Solo just stole back the Millennium Falcon, for _good_.”

The certainty in his tone raises a smile on Ben’s lips, but Rey is far too excited by this new bit of information.

“ _This_ is the Millennium Falcon? _You’re_ Han Solo!” She turns to Ben disbelievingly as his dad disappears down the corridor. “You never told me your dad was Han Solo!”

Ben shrugs at her, and her friend asks “Han Solo…the Rebellion General?”

Rey instantly corrects him. “No, the _smuggler_.” Ben smiles again, but she’s not finished. “This is the ship that made the Kessel Run in _fourteen_ parsecs!”

Ben can anticipate the correction before it comes.

“Twelve!”

“Twelve point two,” Ben mutters to Rey, who doesn’t seem to hear him and traipses after his dad.

“Isn’t he a war hero?” the friend asks Chewie quietly.

 _I don’t know if you’d call him a hero_ , Chewie replies with a shrug, but the friend has no way of understanding.

Ben steps forward and holds out his hand. “Ben,” he says, by way of an introduction. “Ben Solo.”

The friend takes his hand and shakes it firmly. “Finn,” he replies.

“Finn what?”

There’s a hesitation that becomes uncomfortable after a couple of seconds.

“Are you a runaway?” Ben asks quietly. By the look on Finn’s face, Rey clearly has no idea. But Ben can smell the scars of the First Order on him. “It’s okay,” he says. “That’s fine.”

Finn hesitates, then nods. “I ran away yesterday. Ended up on Jakku.”

Ben laughs. It’s almost poetic. Both he and Finn ran from the First Order years apart, and somehow ended up on the most nothing-y planet in all the galaxy. And both of them managed to find the larger than life girl. Although on a planet like Jakku she probably makes up five percent of the population. Chances are high that anyone who lands there would bump into her.

“Throw ‘em on a pod, we’ll drop ‘em at the nearest inhabited planet.” His dad is back, with Rey in tow, but she’s not happy about the suggestion.

“No, we need your help! This droid has to get to the Resistance base as soon as possible.”

Over the top of Rey’s head, his dad’s eyes meet Ben’s own. Time is moving swiftly, and perhaps now he has the Falcon back he has to compromise, and go home in all senses of the word.

“He’s carrying a map to Luke Skywalker,” Finn adds.

Ben’s stomach lurches, and he grabs the wall. Rey stops and turns back to him, her brown eyes assessing him curiously.

“Wipe its memory,” he says, and he takes a step towards the droid who spins backwards, letting out an alarmed series of bleeps.

“ _What_?” Rey and Finn — in unison.

“Luke Skywalker is of _no use_ , to the Resistance,” he says, his throat clogged with panic. “Nobody needs him, and nobody _wants him_. He can die in whatever hole he’s crawled into.”

“ _Hey_ ,” his dad says, stepping between Ben and the droid. As he does so, he blocks out Rey and Finn’s shocked faces.

“Dad I’m not going back if he’s going to be there. I’m _not_ doing it.” His eyes prickle with tears and he hates himself for it. He hates the fact that even after all this time, the mere mention of Luke can still catch him off guard and send his body into a meltdown. His pulse is racing, his head pounding, and he chews on his lip, his sweaty hands pulling at the hem of his shirt. “Dad please don’t make me. Not him. I can’t see him. Not after —”

His dad shushes him, and Ben trails off. The first tear drops down his cheek and he brushes it roughly away with the heel of his palm.

“We’ll get the droid on a clean ship,” his dad murmurs. He pulls Ben’s hand away from his face, keeping, before he can carelessly wipe at his tears again. “Then we’ve done our part and you don’t need to go anywhere near him, all right?”

“But what if he comes _back_?”

His dad sighs and looks down at the floor. “I can’t promise that you’ll never see him again. If this fight drags us all back in, then it might be unavoidable. But we put these two and that droid on a different ship, and it’s not our problem anymore, all right? We do the right thing for the Resistance, and then we go on our way.”

It’s a compromise Ben will have to deal with. But the thought of Luke coming back into the fold, of being _welcomed_ , or even _sought after._ After everything he did. He trained Ansad, and look where Ansad is now — at the heart of the First Order, killing millions, just because he can.

Everything Luke touches turns to shit. If he gives a damn about the Resistance he’ll stay away from it.

But the question still remains. Somebody at the Resistance wants this droid. And there’s only one person who would give an order pertaining to Luke.

“Why would Leia want to reach out to him? After all this time?”

A muscle in his dad’s jaw twitches. He hates it when Ben refers to her as Leia. But as far as Ben is concerned, she’s part of a long forgotten past. His dad has been instrumental to his recovery. Leia only ever wanted to be peacekeeper.

Sometimes you have to take a side.

And maybe she did. Maybe it’s just that she didn’t pick his side.

There is a loud clang overhead, and both Ben and his dad look up. The ceiling of the Falcon reveals nothing to them. But they both know it’s not a good noise.

“Rathtar,” they say in unison, and in an instant, the anxiety drops away from Ben, replaced by a very different type of dread.

* * *

The good thing is they probably won’t have to pay back Kanjiklub.

But the bad news is that the First Order will be able to trace them in a heartbeat now they’re back on the Falcon.

He still has a good mind to launch the droid out of the cargo hold, but he’ll settle for his dad’s plan right now. They’ll be rid of it once and for all by tomorrow.

He goes to find his bedroom, wondering if there’s anything left for him to salvage. When he gets there, the doors of his storage lockers are hanging open. He peers inside, and there’s a splatter of gold ink that’s dried hard against the metal, the smashed bottle having rolled into the corner. There’s a couple of old shirts that are probably too small for him now, as well as a sweater that’s definitely too small, but it’s something at least.

Ben realises that his lightsaber has probably been devoured by a rathtar by now, and he doesn’t much care. It might even be for the best. If Luke comes back he can’t have any expectation of Ben. He can’t assume that he’ll just dive straight in like nothing ever happened.

Ben _still_ can’t believe that Leia’s reaching out to him.

It makes all the anger and resentment of the last six years feel justified. He grabs the broken ink bottle and tosses it into the trash chute, then roughly folds his old shirts and places them back on the right shelf of his locker.

“Ben?”

He turns around. Rey is standing in the doorway, watching him with inquisitive eyes. She looks a little tired too, and with a glance at his wrist-link he realises the day has slipped away from them, one disaster after another.

“Hey,” he says. “You okay? You can’t have seen many rathtar on Jakku.”

“Fine,” she says, smiling briefly. But then her expression becomes serious. “I’m sorry we upset you earlier.”

“You didn’t upset me,” he says briskly, and closes the doors of his storage locker. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh,” she says. She pauses, her fingers trailing up and down her arm as though there’s something more she wants to say. “You know I’ve thought about you a lot since we first met,” she tells him, and she allows herself a small smile again. “A _lot_ actually.”

“Really?” he asks. He’s surprised, even more surprised that she’s actually telling him. But perhaps her inhibitions are skewed. If Niima outpost was the extent of her social education, she could end up saying anything.

“Yeah,” she tells him. “You were nice to me.”

“I can’t have been the only one,” Ben says. He offers her a small smile of his own, but something in her expression causes it to fade before it really forms.

“You _were_ actually,” she says. “The only person I can ever remember being nice to me.” And then she adds as an afterthought, “Apart from Finn, obviously. But I only met him this morning.”

 _Oh_.

It explains a lot, and also answers his unasked question about her parents. They clearly haven’t come back. Of course he feels guilty now for his slowness in recognising her, for his halfhearted response to her. It must have been crushing, if she’s spent the intervening years thinking about him, putting him on the same sort of pedestal on which she’s placed her absent waster parents.

“Well maybe that’s a good reason for you to leave Jakku once and for all,” he tells her softly. “All the nice people are elsewhere in the galaxy.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “Once BB-8’s on a clean ship, I’m going to get back. I’ve been away for far too long.”

“Rey —”

“My family —”

“ _Aren’t_ coming back.” The words come out far harder than he intends. “Maybe they want to,” he suggests, out of guilt and kindness more than anything. “Maybe they’re just stuck on some other awful planet, and they can’t get back to you.”

“But how will they find me if I leave?” she asks in a quiet voice.

“Maybe you can find them,” Ben says, taking a step towards her. The Resistance could use somebody like her. Bright, hardworking, determined. Just as long as Luke isn’t allowed anywhere near her.

Rey folds her arms and fiddles with the fraying edges of her sleeves.

“You can’t spend your whole life waiting for them.” Somebody has to tell her. And it’s better that she hears it from someone she likes. Maybe she’ll listen to him, if she’s thought about him all this time.

“There’s something else,” she tells him, her voice even quieter now, as though the words she’s about to speak are one’s she’s held so deep inside of her that they were never supposed to see the light of day.

“Go on,” he says. He watches her, and she opens her mouth twice but fails to say what she wants to. She skews her lips to one side, focusing far too intently on a loose thread by her wrist.

“When we met,” she begins, her voice cracking. “The first time. Something happened to me.”

“What kind of something?” Ben asks. Though he feels the scepticism rising within him, he manages to keep it from his voice. It means a lot to her. Clearly. But her view of the world is slightly off kilter, in comparison to most people.

“It was like…I woke _up_.”

Ben frowns. “Woke up how?”

Rey opens her mouth, but the sound of footsteps stops her before she can utter an answer. Ben looks up to see his dad rounding the corner.

“You better hit the hay, kid,” he says, and he taps his wrist-link. “We’ll be at Maz’s in about six hours or so.”

“Oh yeah,” Ben says, and from the corner of his eye he can see Rey’s puzzled frown. An irritating heat flushes his face, and when his dad disappears, Rey asks him the burning question.

“How old are you?”

Ben looks up to the ceiling, fingers fiddling with the edge of the control panel. “Twenty-nine,” he tells her.

“And your dad tells you when to go to bed?”

He’s surprised she even has a concept of bedtimes, given that her own parents abandoned her when she was so tiny, before such things could be enforced. But Ben feels an innate need to try and explain the situation away. His dad _isn’t_ overbearing, and Ben can, for the most part, do exactly as he pleases. He’s not treated like a kid at all. But it’s nearly eleven o’clock and that’s way too late for him.

“I get…” Ben struggles to find the phrase. He has absolutely no desire to tell her about his dreams, about Snoke, and about the darkest secrets he has locked away deep within him. But he needs her, of all people, to understand that there’s more to it than a strict routine. “I get sick,” he says at last. “If I don’t sleep properly.”

Rey’s frown softens into an expression of concern. “Sick how?”

Of course she’s asking questions. When has she ever _not_ asked questions?

“My head…doesn’t work properly.” Ben shrugs. It’s not quite the truth, but it’s not quite a lie either. It’ll do for now.

“That sounds awful,” she says, and he thinks for a moment she’s going to reach out and touch him, but she must think better of it, because she jerks her hand upwards to pull at one of the straggly knots in her hair.

Ben wonders if she’s planning on keeping the same hairstyle her whole life.

“There’s a spare bunk you can use,” he tells her, the words falling out of him in a rush. “I’ll show you.”

He leads the way down the corridor, pulling spare blankets from the overhead locker. It’s less private than his own space, and he would offer to swap, were it not for the fact that he’d end up spilling sand all over the gangway.

Besides, he needs the quiet.

He bids her goodnight and returns to his own bed, slipping into a peaceful sleep. When his dad knocks on the door to wake him, Ben sits up and takes a breath. He shifts his legs beneath his blanket, which he hasn’t kicked off in the night for once.

Ben frowns, and lifts the blanket, expecting to see sand. But for the first time in six years, there’s nothing there.


	12. Chapter 12

Takodana looks grey.

Ben takes the too small jumper from his locker and decides there’s a much better use for it. He finds Rey in the cockpit with his dad. She’s sitting in his seat, but he doesn’t mind.

“I didn’t know there was this much green in the whole galaxy,” she breathes.

His dad looks across at her, then raises his eyes to meet Ben’s. He’s soft on her, Ben can tell. She has that way with people. Of unknowingly endearing herself to them. He holds out the sweater to her, but she’s so taken by the view that she doesn’t quite register it.

“Here,” he says, and he nudges her shoulder gently with the bundled up sweater. She turns her head to look up at him, then her eyes land on the sweater. “I thought you might be cold,” he says, and she takes it with a smile.

“Thanks,” she says, and she slips it on. It’s enormous on her, the sleeves reaching her fingertips. But she rolls back the cuffs, then secures them by looping some wire through the wool and twisting the ends together.

Apparently she never takes a break from being practical. 

His dad brings the Falcon in for a smooth landing and Ben lowers the ramp, breathing the fresh air deeply. Nowhere smells quite like Takodana. He can see why Maz chose to build her castle here. It’s so peaceful, and in the distance he can hear birdsong.

It’s like a second home.

Rey walks across the clearing, stopping just short of the lake. Ben doubts she’s ever seen a lake before, and watches quietly as she takes it all in. Now she’s wearing his old sweater — and practically drowning in it — she looks even younger than she is.

She shouldn’t be this alone in the galaxy. No one should.

It’s a few minutes before his dad emerges, Finn following after with an old blaster. His dad walks over to Rey, offering her the smaller pistol. After some discussion, she takes it, and points it out across the lake, but his dad quickly places a hand on her arm, gently lowering the pistol.

“There’s a little more to it than that. Ben’ll show you.”

His dad looks across at him, then beckons him over. Ben follows orders, and draws up alongside Rey as his dad retreats to check out the exterior damage to the Falcon. Ben takes the pistol from Rey and turns it over in his hands.

“Safety,” he says, tapping the switch his thumb. “Always keep that on. It’s stiff for a reason, so you do have to force it a little.” He shows her, his thumb pressing hard against the switch until it toggles into the live position. “Only take it off when you’re intending to fire. Not when you draw it, but when you _know_ you’re going to fire.”

Rey nods, and he hands the pistol back to her so she can try. She has strong fingers from years of fixing whatever ships are unfortunate enough to land on Jakku, but she has to use both hands to toggle the switch properly.

“You’ll get used to it,” Ben tells her.

“And then to fire?” she asks.

It’s been so long since he learned, so long since he had to think about it. It’s second nature to him these days, just like breathing. But he knows if he tells her to point and shoot he’ll get cuffed round the ear by his dad.

“Well you aim,” he says, and she does, but her arm’s a little crooked, and she’ll really feel the recoil if she shoots like that. He reaches around her to straighten it, his hand gently pulling her elbow inwards.

It’s only now that he realises that something about her smells familiar, but he pushes the thought from his mind.

“And then, _if_ you were going to shoot, you’d release the safety,” he adds. “But you’re not going to shoot because the people here would find that extremely troublesome.”

“Why?” she asks, glancing up at him.

“No politics here,” he tells her. “If something kicks off, it kicks off for real.”

“Oh,” she says, and she holds her aim steady, the safety still on.

“When you want to shoot, you make sure you pull the trigger on the exhale. Don’t hold your breath, don’t do it on the inhale. Always on the exhale.”

Rey takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, her finger resting against the trigger, but not squeezing it. “Okay,” she says at last, and then she lowers the pistol and slips it into her belt.

“Yeah?” Ben asks, and she nods. “All right,” he says. “Let’s go.”

The four of them and the droid begin the trip up to Maz’s castle. His dad gives them the spiel, which they both definitely need. This place isn’t like Jakku — people from all across the galaxy are crammed into this one space under the proviso that there’s no trouble from any party at all.

They’ll need to watch their mouths.

As soon as they enter, Ben ducks away to find a table, and a few moments later he hears his dad’s name echoing throughout the bar. Silence reigns until his dad’s response comes, full of false cheer.

But Maz joins them nonetheless, and hops up briefly onto the seat next to Ben to press a kiss to his cheek.

“How are you, my darling?” she asks, her large eyes boring into his.

“Yeah I’m good,” he answers, and she sniffs, as though trying to detect a lie, and then settles herself into her own high backed chair. Ben blocks the noise out while the others explain. He doesn’t want to get caught up in conversation. Instead he helps himself to some breakfast, eating quietly until the name comes up.

“Skywalker?” Maz says. “But…” She turns to look at Ben, her large eyes filled with concern.

“Yeah, I _know_ ,” Ben says.

“Sorry, what _is it_ with you and Skywalker?” Finn asks, his face contorted with confusion.

“None of your damn business, Big Deal,” his dad mumbles. Finn shrinks back without retort, and Ben shifts under Maz’s uncomfortable gaze. She looks troubled, and Ben can sense her brain working through the situation methodically, inching its way to a conclusion.

“You two have been running from this fight for too _long_ ,” she says, and Ben is grateful when she turns away to look pointedly at his dad. “Han, Ben, _go home_.”

“Maz did you not just _hear_ what the Resistance are trying to do?” His heart rate spikes. To be told to go home by anyone would be far too much, but from Maz, when her opinion means so much to him, makes it feel like the walls are closing in.

“Ben,” she reaches forward, and places her hand on top of his. “It’s time to let the past die. The future is worth far more.”

Ben shakes his head, his teeth pulling on his lower lip. His throat feels tight, and he can feel Rey’s eyes on him, burning into his skin.

“There are only two things in this galaxy I’m scared of,” Ben whispers to Maz. He can’t manage any more volume than that — his throat won’t let him. “And _he’s_ one of them.”

Maz shakes her head. “You’re not scared of _him_. You’re scared of his _betrayal_.”

Ben stands abruptly, unwilling to hear more, but his dad grabs him by the arm and pulls him back down. “No, I need you to stay close while we’re here.” He leans forward to address Maz. “That’s _enough_.”

“All you’re doing is delaying the inevitable. This fight _matters_. It’s the only fight that _does_. Not some family squabble.”

“Maz, he tried to _kill me._ ” Never mind Luke’s betrayal, Maz’s change of tune is the real stinger. But she’d never been that impressed with his choices anyway. She’d warned him, all those years ago, that he would be dragged back in one day, and now he’s reached the end of the line.

“And the First Order will kill us _all_ unless we all join this fight, you especially Ben. The time has come.”

“What fight?” Rey asks, but Ben doesn’t stick around to hear the answer. He disappears from the table before his dad has a chance to stop him and ducks out the back door. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what Maz wants. She wants him to rejoin Luke so they can take on Snoke together.

Well that’s not going to happen. He didn’t ask to be born, and he certainly didn’t ask to be born with a target on his back. And yet it’s his obligation somehow to join a fight that he didn’t even start?

No. No way.

He stalks around the woods, kicking up loose pieces of tree bark. His heart is still racing, the flood of anxiety that drowns him every time Luke’s name is mentioned raging across his body. If he can’t even cope with the thought of him, how the hell is he supposed to reconcile with the actual man?

Family _squabble_.

He resents Maz for her choice of words. But then his thoughts are pulled away from Maz altogether as a disturbance rises within him. It feels like it might swallow him up, and there is a deep, impenetrable fear coursing through him.

But it’s not his.

Someone nearby is _scared_.

Ben runs back to the castle, leaping over felled tree trunks and skidding through mud. He shoulders his way through the back doors to see Maz, waiting for him.

“You still feel it then?”

“What happened?” he demands. His eyes flit across to their table. Rey is gone.

“She’s one with the Force,” Maz tells him. “She’s just beginning her journey. The Force is seeking a new hero, because you have turned your back on it.”

“I don’t _want_ to be a hero,” Ben hisses. “I never asked for any of this!”

“Nor did she,” Maz says. “And you are both far, _far_ too young for such burdens. But it’s been there, within her, for years.”

Through his anger — with Maz, with the Force, with the whole damn galaxy — Ben remembers something Rey said. That when he had shown up on Jakku after running away from the temple, something had awoken inside of her.

The Force is trying to spite him. He refuses to participate and so it chooses this girl, who is so lost and so _alone_ to pin all its responsibility to. It’s not _fair_. Maz is right, she’s too young. And every time he turns from the Force it drags Rey a little further along a path that she’s never chosen.

“It’s my fault it’s chosen her,” he whispers.

“It is a _blessing_ ,” Maz tells him. “Two of you are stronger than one. You can help each other make this journey.”

Ben opens his mouth to reply but then flinches as he hears the scream of TIE fighters overhead. Maz’s eyes widen, and there’s a rush within the castle, chairs scraping against the ground and a flurry of movement.

His dad, Chewie, and Finn join them and Maz leads them down to the basement, hurrying along the dim corridor, her shoes scuffing against the stone floor.

“I’ve had this for ages,” she says, her nimble fingers pulling at the clasps of an ancient chest. She pulls the item out and holds it out for Ben. It’s the last thing he expected to see.

“Where did you get that?” his dad asks, an unusual darkness in his tone.

“A good question, for another time,” Maz replies, and she steps forward, gesturing to Ben to take the lightsaber.

He can’t let Rey pick up the slack for him anymore. It was all well and good when it was someone else’s problem, but now he’s making it her problem. He won’t do that.

He looks across at his dad, and there is hesitation in his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything. Ben closes his hand around the hilt of the lightsaber, and is sucked out of reality.

_Fear, a deeper fear than he’s ever felt. His uncle looks down at him with murder in his heart._

_Green clashes against blue._

_Snoke towers over him, blue eyes gleaming with triumph._

_And Vader, his own grandfather, before the mask, sweeping his lightsaber through a world of innocence as he falls and falls and falls._

_Behind it all, a cold laugh. A cackle._

There’s a clatter as the lightsaber falls, and Ben hauls himself to the side of the corridor, one sweaty palm pressed against the wall as he throws up, vomit splashing against the floor. He’s shaking, covered in cold sweat, and his legs are weak beneath him.

“Take it,” Maz says. “Find your friend.”

When Ben turns around, Finn has the lightsaber — completely unaffected by it. It’s for the best. He can use it as a weapon without distraction. Ben can’t even touch the thing.

He wonders what Rey saw.

And then he realises she’s out there on her own.

And so he runs.

The castle is crumbling by the time they make it up to ground level, and they have to climb out of the rubble to make it onto the battlefield. Stormtroopers are running riot all over the place, and a First Order landing craft is parked just out of harm’s way.

Ben shoots without thinking, his senses guiding his blaster, and he hears the distorted yell of one of the Stormtroopers. He enters the fray, and for the first time in a long time, allows himself to truly become one with the Force.

It’s the only way he’ll make it through this thing alive.

There’s an explosion overhead, and he’s showered with dust and debris — one piece of jagged rock cutting his cheek, but he continues firing his blaster, taking out Stormtroopers in quick succession.

He can’t see Rey anywhere, and so he edges closer and closer to the woods, hoping to find her amongst the trees.

Ben senses something behind him, and whirls around just in time to see a Stormtrooper, his riot baton crackling with electricity. Ben waves a hand and his head jerks to one side, the sickening crack muffled by the sounds of blaster fire.

It’s the first time he’s killed somebody using the Force alone.

He doesn’t like it.

In his distraction, he doesn’t sense the Stormtrooper standing just out of his peripheral vision. He doesn’t sense the blaster being primed. Nor does he feel the shot until it’s far too late.

The blast collides with his shoulder, slamming him face first into the mud. He rolls over onto his back, the mud cooling the burn as the pain rips through his muscles. He feels around for his blaster but it’s fallen from his grip and tumbled out of sight.

His breath comes in short gasps, and Ben pushes himself up, his hands sinking deep into the mud. A Stormtrooper runs past and Ben swipes his hands towards the left, pulling his legs out from under him. The Stormtrooper’s blaster sails into Ben’s outstretched hand, and he fires off a few shots to finish the job.

His mouth is dry, and he can taste blood, but Ben scrambles over to the trees, taking cover behind a thick trunk and taking out every armoured body he can see.

A flash of red lights up the sky and Ben looks up to see an X-wing twirling through the air, blowing up transports with quick fire blasts. The squadron behind him focuses their fire on the TIE fighters, green shots of retaliation colliding with their red.

Ben pulls himself to his feet and can see in the distance his dad, Chewie, and Finn standing with their hands on their heads, surrounded by Stormtroopers whose attention is now mostly taken up by the Resistance attack. But there are still too many blasters pointed towards them, and so Ben lines up his shot, hoping the blast will make the distance.

He lets out a breath and squeezes the trigger, taking out the Stormtrooper closest to his dad. He aims again, and the one on Finn’s side is catapulted to the floor. Ben spits the blood from his mouth and leans heavily against the tree trunk. The pain in his shoulder is spreading to his head, the back of his shirt warm and wet. He raises his blaster, and continues to pick off white figures, squinting through the smoke and explosions for any trace of Rey.

He can’t see her, but then the Stormtroopers begin to flee, heading back to their transports and throwing themselves in as quickly as possible. They take off, abandoning the burning wreck of Maz’s castle, and the landing craft follows.

But then he hears Finn screaming.

And he’s screaming Rey’s name.

Ben runs, ignoring the blinding pain spreading throughout his body. His feet scuff against the floor, unsteady, and he finds Finn, wide eyed and panicked.

“He took Rey!”

“ _Who_ did?” Ben asks, gripping the sleeve of Finn’s jacket just so he can stay standing.

“Ansad, he took her on his ship!”

Ben turns, and the landing craft is a black dot in the distance. He reaches out a hand, and it’s only fear that he has left to fuel him now. The black dot shudders, thrown off balance, but Ben can do no more than disrupt its flight path.

He falls to his knees, bracing himself against the ground as he tries to breathe deeply.

“Solo, they took Rey!”

“I know,” comes the quiet, dismissive reply. Strong arms hook themselves under Ben’s armpits and haul him to his feet. He leans into his dad’s side and slings his arm around his shoulders. The pain is making him dizzy, and his vision blurs as the Resistance landing craft sets down among the wreckage.

Even in this state, he knows what’s coming, but his body doesn’t have the energy to release a hefty dose of anxiety, not even when the doors hiss open and Resistance troopers file out.

And then she follows, her brown eyes meeting his.

“Ben,” she says, and she hurries over, cupping his face with soft hands. “Where are you hurt?”

“Shoulder,” he murmurs, and he falls against her, the last of his energy gone.


	13. Chapter 13

He wakes in the med bay. When he sits up, his head spins. One of the med team rushes over, taking him by the upper arm and settling him back against soft pillows.

“Where’s my dad?” he mumbles. He feels hazy, but his shoulder doesn’t hurt. There must be a painkiller floating through his veins, easing the blaster wound.

“He’s with the general,” the soft voice says. She rests a hand on his good shoulder. “I mean, your mother. Sorry.”

Ben waves a dismissive hand.

“Rest, and when you’re ready, there are clean clothes on the chair.”

She shifts aside so Ben can see the neatly folded pile. His boots have been cleaned up, though the laces are stained with mud. His jacket hangs off the back of the chair. Ben leans back against the headboard and closes his eyes. He breathes deeply, toes curling under the blankets, and he tries to reach out, to feel for Rey, somewhere out there in the Force.

But he can’t do it.

And it’s exhausting. It’s not like it used to be. Maybe he _is_ out of practice. Maybe he needs to build up his stamina again.

_You feeling better?_

Ben opens his eyes at the sound of Chewie’s voice and swings his legs out of bed. He’s wasted enough time here. Rey’s with Ansad, and he needs to find her before she pays the highest price for his own failings.

“Will you help me?” Ben asks quietly, his body stiff, limbs uncooperative.

Chewie hands him his shirt, and gently helps him navigate his arms through the sleeves. He feels like a little kid, especially when Chewie crouches down to slip Ben’s socks onto his feet and then laces his boots up.

Ben leans against Chewie as they walk into the command centre of the base. As soon as he walks in, Leia turns, then extricates herself from her conversation. Chewie releases Ben, and he has to steady himself, before Leia arrives and wraps her arms around his middle. He puts his good arm around her in a perfunctory hug, and then she pulls away.

“You should be resting,” she says critically. “Have you eaten? Let me arrange for some food.”

He allows her to fuss, permits a few minutes of mollycoddling as she leads him over to a seat next to the main console. He is swiftly handed a bowl of hot grains with some kind of stew. He wolfs it down, ignoring the pain as it burns his tongue, blistering his taste buds. If he’s going to save Rey, he needs to get his energy back and fast.

The looming threat of Starkiller base means that Leia is sufficiently distracted for Ben to be left to his own devices. Finn is deep in conversation with an orange-uniformed pilot and a handful of officers, and his dad is fetching himself a canteen of water, surveying the scene. His eyes light up when they land on Ben, and he fills a second canteen and crosses the base.

The tinny sound of mechanical footsteps arrives first however.

“Master Solo! What a pleasure it is to see you again!”

“Hey Threepio,” Ben replies. He’s not in the mood for conversation, but nor is there any need to upset the droid. Thankfully his dad arrives swiftly enough, sending Threepio on his way on some made up errand.

“We need to get Rey back,” are Ben’s first words to him.

“I know, kid. She can handle herself though, she’ll be all right. How are _you_ though? How’s the shoulder?”

“Tired,” he says. “But I’ll be fine.”

His dad hums in disapproval, as though he doesn’t believe him, and Ben takes a canteen from him and downs half its contents. He needs energy. The only way they’re getting Rey back is to go to Starkiller base directly. And unless he wants to make a hash of it, he needs to get himself together.

“Your mother thinks you’re suppressing your own powers,” his dad says gravely. “With it taking this much out of you.”

Ben frowns. “I don’t think so.”

“She thinks you don’t realise you’re doing it. That every time you use the Force you’re fighting with yourself.” His dad shrugs and pulls a face. “You should talk to her about it, she understands this stuff much better than I do.”

Ben doesn’t say anything, but shovels the last of his food into his mouth. They’ve already had the conversation then. The one about him where they discuss him in every detail, where his dad spills all the secrets of the last few years and where Leia gives unsolicited advice.

There are small blessings in this galaxy, and one of them is that he didn’t have to be party to such a conversation.

But the notion plays at the back of his mind. There could be some truth in it. All this time he’s been fighting to stay hidden, from Luke, from Snoke. Maybe he went too far. Maybe he disappeared off the edge of the map, and is paying the price as he tries to claw himself back into the field of play.

An alarm sounds, and everyone gathers in a huddle around the console. The pilot Finn had been talking to is in some position of authority, and he addresses everybody, reporting back on a reconnaissance mission of the First Order’s base.

Ben watches the holograms change, the words filtering into his brain. The base is big. And deadly. If they don’t destroy it, they’re all done for.

He has no idea what that means for Rey.

But while plans are in discussion, his dad comes through.

“We disable the shields. Kid, you worked there.”

Ben looks up, but his dad is addressing Finn. It feels weird, hearing the nickname that had always been reserved for him used on someone else. But his dad is a soft touch, and after the battle on Takodana, he’s clearly grown fond of Finn.

“I can do it. I can disable the shields, but I have to _be there_ , on the planet.” Finn’s eyes meet Ben’s, and they’re in agreement. Whatever gets them to Rey, they’ll do it.

“We’ll get you there,” his dad says to Finn.

“Han _how_?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Ben interrupts, sitting up straight. “We disable the shields, your guys can blow the shit out of it.” There’s a collective intake of breath, and his dad sends an exasperated look in his direction. Leia’s lips are pursed, and Ben holds up a hand of apology. “Sorry, sorry,” he says. “What I meant was your guys can blow the fuck out of it.”

Finn looks down at his boots to hide his smirk.

“I swear I raised you with manners,” Leia says.

Ben shrugs. “Maybe I left them behind when you sent me to join a cult.” The retort comes before he can stop it, cold and callous, and even by his standards, inappropriate. But he continues to stare at the enormous diagram of the base, ignoring the sensation of dozens of people staring at him. From the other side of the diagram, his dad makes a ‘zip it!’ gesture. But Ben doesn’t need to be told.

“So we disable the shields,” the pilot says slowly, pulling the briefing back on track. “We take out the oscillator, and we blow up their big gun.”

Everyone disperses to their posts, readying for the attack. Ben gets to his feet, only for the pilot to circle around the console, his jaw set and arms folded.

“You need to show more respect to the general,” he says.

Ben looks down at him, then sidesteps him. He’s not answerable to this guy. He doesn’t even know his name. And this guy certainly knows nothing about Ben. His authority, where Ben is concerned, is less than zero.

“Hey, I mean it!” the pilot says, and he’s too fast for Ben’s sluggish, post-sedation movements. “She’s leading the fight against the First Order and you come in here and try to…sass her?”

Ben turns away again. There isn’t time for an argument with a short ass pilot with ideas way above his station.

“Are you _deaf_?”

“I wish,” Ben retorts.

“You need to buck your ideas up, buddy. If you’re gonna be part of the Resistance —” But the lecture is short-lived. He’s not here by choice, and he’s certainly not here to have someone wag a finger at him. There’s only one thing that’ll shut this guy up for sure.

“Are you fucking my mom?” Ben asks, rounding on him. The pilot’s face falls, his eyes widening, complexion paling. “Is that what this is? And believe me,” Ben says, “I couldn’t care less if you are. But this _discipline_ …doesn’t work for me. And if you’re expecting me to call you ‘Dad’ then I’ll pass on that. I already have one.”

“You’re all mouth,” the pilot says, recovering quickly and jabbing a finger towards him. He opens his mouth to continue, but Ben gets there first.

“Wow, I wonder where I get it from? Both my parents are such shy, retiring people.”

The comment catches the pilot off guard, his mouth twitching with amusement. Before the conversation can continue Ben is tugged away by his dad, and shoved in the direction of the Falcon.

“It takes more than a couple of curse words to shock your mother,” he tells Ben sternly. “You should know that.”

Ben bristles at the accusation. “It was nothing to do with her. They’re all so precious around her, gasping like little kids.”

“She’s their _general_ ,” his dad replies. “Not their _mom_. They see her far differently than you do.”

Ben bites his tongue. Telling his dad that he doesn’t see Leia as a mom will _not_ help things. And besides, they’ve got far too much to concentrate on for the time being. Chewie is already fixing up the Falcon, and Finn is loading explosives onto the ship.

Ben picks up a crate with his good arm, balancing it against his hip, and walks up the ramp to speed up the process. The sooner they rescue Rey and blow up the damn base, the sooner they can leave the Resistance behind. But even now, in the back of his head, there’s doubt. He’s rarely seen his dad be so serious as he was during the briefing. And he’s certainly never seen him volunteer first to put himself in harm’s way.

Maybe they’re back for good.

The thought makes Ben feel ill.

The idea is only cemented when he goes back down the ramp and sees his dad hugging Leia, speaking quietly to her. Ben grabs another crate and walks back up the ramp, setting it down with the others. He disappears to his room — there are only a few crates left after all — and he tries to find some peace inside the cramped space.

He needs to focus on Rey. She’s in danger. He can worry about himself later, can worry about the discomfort and anxiety he feels just from being on the same planet as Leia. He can worry about Luke later too, who surely wouldn’t dare to show his face. He disappeared for good reason.

Rey.

He closes his eyes and reaches out. But it’s as though she’s just out of reach, like she’s in another room with the door locked shut.

Ben gives up. They must be nearly ready to take off. He slaps the control panel and as the door slides open, Ben recoils.

She’s standing there, her hand raised and ready to knock. There’s a flicker of surprise in her expression, and she lowers her hand, crossing the threshold.

He wishes the room were bigger.

“Are you sure you’re well enough to go?”

“I’m fine,” he says, not looking at her, but instead at a point just over her head. He doesn’t want this conversation, and he’s especially resentful that she’s cornered him in his own bedroom. She doesn’t seem to care. Her lips pull into a sad half smile, and guilt tugs at him for his earlier comments.

But the cult thing was true. He stands by the facts.

It was also unnecessary.

“I’ve missed you,” she tells him. Ben pulls open his locker and pretends to look for something, which is difficult when there’s barely anything in there. In the end he grabs his canteen and squeezes past her in the doorway, heading for the galley so he can refill it. She follows him, because of course she does.

She’s never known when to quit.

“Did Dad tell you what I said? About your powers?”

“Yeah,” Ben replies, and he takes a sip of water before screwing the cap back on. He’s walked himself into a corner though, and the galley is far too narrow for him to make it past her. He leans against the counter, staring at the wall, and lets out a soft sigh.

“You’ll hurt yourself if you carry on,” she tells him. “You need to let go. You need to accept it back into your life.”

Ben’s not convinced that it’s just the Force that she’s talking about. Far more likely is she’s talking about all the stuff that comes with it — his relationship with her, with Luke. Apparently he’s supposed to forgive and forget and enter a fight that he’s been destined for since he took his first breath.

And it’s still not fair. But he knows all too well that the galaxy isn’t fair. It never has been.

“I want you to take this. You can use it better than a blaster.” She pulls something from under her jacket and Ben takes a step away from her, knocking his head on the corner of a cabinet. He swears, and she steps forward, reaching out a hand in concern, but he ducks away from her, rubbing the side of his head.

“No,” he says. “Give it back to Finn. He can use it.”

“He’s a sweet kid,” Leia says. “But he doesn’t have your skill with a lightsaber.”

“I’m not touching it,” he tells her firmly. “It’s not up for discussion. Are we done?”

Her face creases with regret, and Ben notices that there are far more lines in her soft skin than he remembers. Her hair is a dark grey now, the brown having finally given up the ghost. She slips the lightsaber back into her jacket. Perhaps she finally realises that with her stubbornness and his dad’s combined, Ben can dig his heels in better than either of them. He is their worst qualities combined, he knows. Hot-headed, unyielding, and far too quick to run his mouth.

He presses his lips together and swallows the lump in his throat. She has a way of looking at him that makes him feel guilty for even existing.

“Please be careful,” she says.

“Yeah I will,” he replies. It’s hardly the most dangerous thing they’ve ever done. But as far as she knows it is. But they don’t really have a choice. The First Order has seen to that.

She steps forward and wraps her arms around his middle. He reluctantly accepts the hug, standing there for a little while with his good arm resting around her shoulders. She’s so much smaller than he remembers. There’s a frailness to her these days that is suppressed by her forceful manner.

“I love you,” she tells him. “I think you’ve forgotten just how much, but I _do_ love you.”

Ben clenches his jaw. He hasn’t forgotten anything. That’s always been the problem. But he relents, and lets go of the tension in his muscles.

“I know,” he says.

She pulls away from him and gives him one last smile, squeezing his good arm gently before turning and leaving the galley. Ben presses his hands to his face, his eyes closed, and takes several deep breaths. Then he steels himself and heads for the cockpit where his dad is getting ready for take off.

“Okay kid?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Ben replies, dropping into his seat. His shoulder smarts, but the bacta bandage is slowly doing its job.

“You sure you’re up for this?” his dad asks, glancing sideways at him.

“Yeah,” he says. “Of course.”

A smile tugs at his dad’s lips, and he reaches up to brush his thumb against his lucky dice. Somehow, despite the odds, they’ve survived with the ship after all this time.

“Can I just check,” Ben begins. There’s no other way he can see that they could do it with the Falcon, and certainly no way that would cross his dad’s mind. “Are we entering their atmosphere at light speed?”

His dad’s face breaks into a full grin now, basking in the light of oncoming adventure.

“You betcha.”


	14. Chapter 14

_Hurry up! I’m freezing my ass off out here!_

“Oh you’re cold? Really?”

Ben sniggers as his dad turns away from Chewie, his expression sour from Finn’s big reveal. Sanitation’s fine, Ben thinks. Surely wherever they’re headed has floors that need mopping. If anything, sanitation teams know their way around better than anyone.

Providing Finn wasn’t stuck on laundry duty of course.

Chewie is the blunt object that they always need in a dicey situation. He takes care of the first Stormtrooper with one blow from his crossbow. And the chrome helmeted captain is no match for his assault.

So far so simple. Ben keeps his eyes peeled, ears straining for any sounds of danger. And all the while he reaches out, trying to sense Rey. He thinks he can feel her, but her presence in the Force is hazy, indecipherable, and not quite solid yet. It’s as though she’s a half formed thought, but every time he makes a conscious check of her status, she becomes a little more solid.

The shields are disabled, the system powering down. Phasma delivers a series of empty threats until Finn holds his blaster under her chin.

“What do we do with her?”

“Is there a garbage chute?” his dad asks. Then his eyes light up with glee. “A trash compactor?”

Ben rolls his eyes. He’s heard the story a hundred thousand times.

“Yeah there is,” Finn says, his lips curving into a smirk.

Chewie takes care of that particular deed, and holds the chute to the trash compactor open just long enough to hear a disgusting splash, followed by dry retching noises.

He can barely process Finn’s plan as it falls from his mouth. But Ben hears enough to know that it’s dangerous, reckless, even in comparison to their current plans. He tunes it out, searching and searching for Rey with his mind.

She’s close, he knows that much. But instead of being a pinprick of light she’s an all encompassing glow. When he opens his eyes, his dad and Finn are standing by the viewport. And between their heads he can see a slender figure scaling the opposite wall, sleeves of an overlarge sweater pushed up to her elbows.

It takes all of his concentration to not break into a sprint as they circle round to the other side. They’re all far safer together, and he doesn’t want her to be alone for a second longer than she has to. She’s waited long enough for people to come back for her. She shouldn’t have to wait for them too.

He nearly walks slap bang into her, and her blaster prods him in the chest as she lets out a yelp of surprise. Her lip is bloody and swollen, as though someone has struck her, and Ben feels a surge of animosity, like a tidal wave of vengeance, ready to strike. He has to resist the urge to wipe the crimson stain from her chin with his thumb.

“You all right?” his dad asks her, gently pushing her blaster away from Ben’s chest.

“Yeah,” she replies, and then her eyes land on Ben. “You came back.” Her gaze travels over to Finn, and then to Chewie, and at last, to Ben’s dad. “You all did.” She sounds confused by the notion.

“Of course we did,” Finn says, and Rey steps around Ben to hug Finn tightly.

“Was it Ansad?” Ben asks, not looking at the pair of them.

“Yeah,” she replies. “But I got away.”

Ben nods, and follows his dad. Destiny is rushing towards him quicker than he’d like. He had always assumed that if he had done everything right, if he had always made good choices, then he would always naturally walk the tightrope of the light. But it’s fast becoming obvious to him that his choices aren’t so black and white. That the world isn’t split between light and dark quite so clinically as the Jedi texts might have them believe.

He’s going to have to do something bad sooner or later. He’s going to have to kill someone who he knows is just screwed up in every way possible.

But Ben can’t afford to let that be anyone else’s problem. Ansad leaves a trail of destruction in his wake, always searching for the next skirmish to prove his strength.

And this time, he’s taken out his insecurities on Rey.

It can’t go on.

When they make it out onto the roof of the base, all thoughts of Ansad slip from Ben’s mind. The battle overhead is a dire sight, X-wings outnumbered five to one and paying the price dearly.

His dad looks towards him, looking him up and down before heaving a sigh. “We can’t leave.”

“I know,” Ben says, and he turns towards Chewie, who nods.

“My friend’s got a bag full of explosives,” his dad says to Finn and Rey, before turning back to take one last look at the battle. “Let’s use them.”

Ben has to shoot with his left hand, and his aim’s off by a fraction. But Chewie makes up for it with his crossbow, and soon the path is clear for the three of them to make it to the security entrance that will lead them to the heart of the weapon. He taps his fingers against the shaft of his blaster, his eyes fixed on the mouth of the corridor while he waits for Rey to work her magic on the doors.

And then there’s a hiss, and one door after another rises to let them pass.

“Girl knows her stuff,” his dad murmurs, increasingly fond of her.

They pass through the tunnel quietly, time pressing in on them as the weapon approaches full capacity. Eventually they reach the cavernous room that powers the weapon. Enormous fuel cells line the walls, narrow bridges crossing the vast chasm below.

Ben takes a handful of charges from Chewie and begins fixing them to the fuel cells, priming each one in turn. He works methodically, hearing Chewie’s heavy footsteps overhead, and along the pass, the clinking of the buckles on his dad’s jacket break through the oppressive quiet.

He reaches out instinctively in his mind for Rey, just to check she’s okay, that nothing terrible has happened to her. But still she’s this hazy, omnipresent glow, that he can’t quite make sense of.

Ben fixes the last of his charges, and the lights glow red as he flicks the switch to prime it. He looks up at the sound of his dad’s footsteps.

“You done, kid?”

“Yeah,” Ben replies, and he folds up his now empty bag, tucking it into the inside pocket of his jacket.

“Come on,” his dad says, taking him by his good shoulder. “Let’s blow this joint.”

Ben can’t help the laughter that tumbles out of him, but it’s interrupted by a scream.

_“COWARD!”_

Ben senses the blaster shot, but before he can do anything he’s shoved to the floor, landing heavily on the metal grating. The wind is knocked out of him, and he’s only just able to process the screams around him — Rey, Finn, and a desperate wail from Chewie.

Ben rolls over, ignoring the searing pain in his shoulder, and sees Ansad on the other side of the facility, blaster gripped so tightly that Ben can see it quivering even from here. There’s a groan, and Ben looks down, his dad splayed on the floor, shirt pooling with scarlet.

“Fight me, you coward!” Ansad screams.

And Ben wants to, rage rising up in him like never before. Ben wants to give into it, to make him hurt as much as he knows this will later. But his dad is lying there, his face paling, and maybe he has a chance, if Ben can be fast.

He raises a hand and Ansad is catapulted into the wall. He slides down it, out cold, and blaster shots ping across the room in flashes of red. Chewie’s covering him though, and so Ben summons all of his strength and scoops his dad up.

The pain is almost unbearable, but once he’s taken his first couple of steps it gets a little easier.

“Kid, just run. I’m not worth getting shot over.”

“Shut up,” Ben hisses. What his dad will never be able to accept is that he’s the only person worth getting shot over. He’s given Ben everything he has, given him some semblance of a life when that had all seemed impossible just a few years ago.

What can Ben do but give everything to save the only person who has ever loved him completely unconditionally?

He bursts out into the blizzard, but his stomach lurches as he loses his footing, the snow deeper than anticipated. His dad grunts, but says nothing. Ben scrambles through the snow. The Falcon’s not far, but the icy wind whips at his cheeks, pulling at his hair. His eyes water as he presses onwards, the cold seeping through his boots and numbing his toes. But he has to keep going.

The boom behind him is muffled by the wind, but it’s what Ben needs. The shields are down, and he just needs to get his dad to the Falcon. It’s going to be okay, the Resistance will take out the weapon, and he can get his dad back to base, back to the med bay.

Ben shoulders the ramp control and it feels like it takes an age to lower. He strides up it, the muscles of his arms frozen in place. It might be the only thing that’s gotten him back here. He swears as he sets his dad down into the med bunk, and his numb fingers scrabble at the locker for the med pack. He pulls it out, and opens it up, extracting a large wad of gauze that will stem the blood flow.

He presses down hard on the wound, but when his dad doesn’t react, Ben’s heart deflates. One frail cold hand closes around Ben’s wrist, the strength leaving him.

But it can’t be too late. If they can just get back to base then the med team can give him a blood boost, can undo the damage inflicted by Ansad.

“Kid, this is it.” Even his voice is weak, and Ben’s eyes prickle as they flood with the truth that he’s unwilling to accept.

“No, just hold on until we can get you back to base.” His hands are shaking as he applies more pressure to the wound. He chews on his lower lip, his teeth tearing at the flesh as he fights to contain his fear. “Dad _please_.”

“Ben.” His brown eyes are sombre, dulling, the twinkle extinguished for good. This can’t be it. This won’t be Ben’s last memory of him.

“No,” Ben says, shaking his head. He won’t accept it, even though his dad only uses his name when things are serious.

“Listen to me,” his dad’s voice is hoarse, his eyes desperate, and his grip on Ben’s wrist tightens, nails digging into the flesh. “Whatever Snoke promises you, whatever he threatens you with, you never give in. It’s not worth your soul. Don’t let him have it. That’s _yours_ forever, so hang on tight to it.”

“Dad —”

“He’s going to come for you. You _have_ to be ready.”

“No —”

“ _Please_ Ben.” His voice is hoarser than ever, his vocal cords straining to squeeze out every syllable. “And no matter what happens, your mom, Luke, they’re in your corner. You _have to know that_.”

“Luke? _Dad_.”

“Please,” his dad says again, his voice barely a breath. “ _Please_.” He beckons him down with one twitch of his finger, and Ben drops to his knees, easing the pressure on the wound. His dad catches the fabric of Ben’s shirt, tugging him down further, and presses his lips to Ben’s forehead.

“I love ya, kid.” It’s the last gruff whisper, and Ben pulls away, just in time to see the muscles of his face twitch, pulling his lips into a faint lopsided smile.

And then his hand drops from Ben’s shirt, his grip on Ben’s wrist slackening. Ben feels it, physically he feels the final beat of his dad’s heart, but through the Force he feels the universe shatter, as though everything that ever meant anything to anyone has fallen to pieces.

But he can’t be gone. Not now. Not already. He was supposed to have years left. _Years_.

“Dad,” Ben chokes out, tears spilling down his cheeks. “Dad _please_.” Ben shakes him gently, but his dad’s hand just falls from his chest off the side of the bunk, dangling limply while Ben tries to coax the life back into him.

“ _Dad_.” Ben looks over his shoulder towards the ramp, as though this is just a test and his real dad, his _alive_ dad will come strolling into the ship with some throwaway joke on his lips.

But he’s not there.

There’s just a steady drift of snow building on the ramp, wind whistling through the corridors, and Ben is all alone.


	15. Chapter 15

He still smells the same.

His dad’s jacket is drenched with tears, and Ben keeps ahold of his hand. He can’t bring himself to let it go. If he does, then he’ll be gone forever.

The Falcon shifts, and Ben has to brace himself against the wall. The whole planet is going to blow, but he can’t tear himself away from his dad.

But the others haven’t come back yet. He can’t lose them too.

Ben closes his eyes, steels himself, then leans forward to press a kiss to his dad’s forehead. That will have to do for now. He grits his teeth and stands up, pulling a blanket from the locker and covering his dad with it.

He looks like he could be sleeping. And that’s enough for Ben to focus.

Footsteps sound on the ramp, and Ben anticipates Chewie before he sees him. The Wookiee looks at the bunk, at the pale body, and lets out a soft, indecipherable wail.

“Where are the others?” Ben asks. He can barely concentrate but he has to get them off this rock. He can’t leave them behind.

_I don’t know, they ran._

Ben nods, and heads towards the cockpit. They’ll have a far better chance of finding them from the air. He hesitates before he drops into the pilot seat, a seat where he’s sat a thousand times before. But this time it’s different. This is the first time of every time now.

But he doesn’t have time to think like that. There’s a fear rising in him that intertwines with his grief, a panic that Ben doesn’t quite feel belongs to him. He flicks the switches to start the engines and takes off, skimming low over the surface, squinting through the snow to try and find some trace of them.

“Chewie I need to you to be looking!” he calls.

Chewie lumbers into the cockpit and sinks into Ben’s old seat. He doesn’t mention the situation in the corridor, and Ben’s relieved. He can’t process it now. Even though it’s all he can think about, his brain is refusing to engage with the subject.

 _There_.

A tree topples in the distance, in the middle of the forest, and Ben loops around, trying to find a clearing where he can set the Falcon down.

The tree has sharpened his focus, and now he’s concentrating, he can sense a darkness out there.

Ansad.

“Land us,” Ben says, rising from his seat and handing control over to Chewie. If Ansad’s out there, Rey and Finn are both in danger. There’s no telling what he might do to spite Ben. Rey’s already been at his mercy once today.

Ben sheds his jacket and hangs it over the back of his seat. It doesn’t look right there, it makes the cockpit seem off balance, but he turns away from it, heading for the ramp. He has his blaster. Finn had had the lightsaber. This’ll have to do.

He drops the ramp before they touch down and leaps the final few feet, sinking into the snow. Through the wind he can hear — or feel, he’s not sure — the clash of lightsabers, and he sets off. As he gets deeper into the forest, the snow thins, and he’s able to break into a sprint, scrambling over the uneven ground, twigs snapping underfoot.

He reaches a clearing, hurdling an enormous branch, freshly broken. Finn is lying prone in the centre, and Ben crouches down next to him. The lightsaber wound is gaping and bloody, snow fluttering into it and melting on contact.

Ben fiddles with his wrist-link and sends his location the Falcon, with a two word message:

HELP FINN.

It’s the best he can do for now.

A scream sounds in the distance, the creak and crash of tree branches following on. Ben runs towards it, his heart pounding. No more losses today. No more.

And especially not her.

Another scream sounds, but this is more guttural, fiercer, and pained. Ben speeds up, hurtling through the trees, branches whipping at his arms and face. And then he hears his voice.

“You’re strong with the Force!” Ansad yells over the sound of his lightsaber crackling against Rey’s. “Stronger than Solo, you could be so much more than him!”

“So _what_?” Rey replies with a scowl. The muscles in her arms are tensed, twitching as she strains to keep Ansad’s blade at bay.

“I could train you. Join us! The Resistance is finished! You’ll be returning to ashes!”

Rey growls, then sweeps her heel into Ansad’s shin. He lets out a yell of agony, but before Rey can do anything else, she’s hoisted into the air, lightsaber falling from her grip. The blue blade extinguishes, leaving the forest seeped in a deep red glow.

“I’ll teach you to respect the dark side you scavenger bitch,” Ansad hisses, his free hand held aloft, squeezing the air.

Before Ben can make a plan, or think of the consequences, he’s striding into the clearing. His blaster isn't even drawn. Ansad could snap Rey’s neck in a heartbeat. The blaster would panic him.

But he has no means of defending himself.

“Let go of her,” Ben calls, his voice sounding far bolder than he feels. Rey’s hands grip at her neck, trying to pry away the invisible hand constricting her airways.

Not more losses.

“Fight me,” Ansad says, coolly. “Fight me and I’ll release her.”

Ben grits his teeth. He’s not scared of Ansad, but he knows this isn’t as straightforward as it seems. And then there’s the sheer fact of following Ansad’s orders. Every fibre of his being tells him that’s a terrible idea, that at worst, it’s a trap, and at best, he’ll end up giving Ansad a perverse sense of satisfaction. 

“Pick it up,” Ansad orders, and he kicks the lightsaber towards Ben. It skids to his feet, stained with mud and blood. “Go on, pick it up.”

Ben crouches down and reaches for it, steeling himself for the visions that will inevitably follow. “Let her go and I’ll take it,” he says.

Even from this distance, he can see Ansad’s jaw twitch as he considers the decision. He’s desperate to fight Ben, to prove himself — most likely to Snoke — and Rey is merely collateral damage in his world. Leverage.

Ben is the prize, and he knows it.

Rey drops to the ground, gasping for air. Her throat is raw as she drags the air in, and she rolls over, her watery eyes meeting Ben’s gaze. He grits his teeth and closes his hand around the freezing metal of the lightsaber’s hilt.

Everything happens all at once. He can barely process the visions but he can make out flashes of images — Luke, sitting by his bedside and patiently telling him the same story about his Jedi training for a hundredth time; his mother, straightening the collar of his shirt before he’d left to go to the temple the last time; and his dad, sitting in the pilot’s seat of the Falcon, grinning across at him.

It’s like a switch has flipped, and everything he has pushed down so deep rises to the surface. Everything he has ever buried within himself comes to the fore, every feeling he has ever snuffed out is suddenly lighting up his nerves, his brain. And in his mind’s eye, Rey’s presence in the Force becomes crystal clear.

Ben stands up and ignites the lightsaber, casting its blue glow across the snow. He grips the hilt tightly, but he knows exactly what he needs to do.

Ansad’s eyes flash with pleasure. He strides forward, red blade held aloft, and Ben can now see the searing wound in his shoulder.

“Always the coward, Solo. Always running from your destiny.” Ansad twirls his blade around, showing off. But Ben isn’t intimidated. He can tell Ansad has been practising in front of a mirror. He used to do it all the time at the temple. Ben watches him, letting him tire himself out with his ridiculous acrobatics.

Ben doesn’t have energy to waste on this fight.

“Take a stand!” Ansad screams, frustrated with Ben’s patience. He thumps his own chest with a gloved hand, as though Ben will suddenly dive in.

Ben wonders if he’s scared. All he can feel of his presence is the flickering instability of his anger and desperation.

And it’s that anger and desperation that killed his dad.

“Are you _scared_ , your royal highness?” Ansad sneers. “Is the Prince of Aldera—”

Ben swipes his hand to the left. The crack echoes throughout the clearing, and Rey suppresses a shriek beneath her hands. There’s a ripple in the Force, but nothing more.

Ansad is already lying on the ground.

Ben extinguishes the lightsaber and crosses over to Rey. He takes her by the arm and pulls her up. He keeps ahold of her as he guides her through the forest, back to the Falcon, passing quickly over the ground as it rumbles beneath their feet.

In the clearing where Finn had been, there’s just an imprint in the snow, spatters of scarlet around it.

“Finn —” Rey begins.

“Chewie’s got him.”

They’re the only words he says to her and he presses onwards, aware of the weight of the lightsaber in his hand, of the burden it carries, and how he will never be able to evade his destiny.

There is a jolt in his stomach as the Falcon comes into view, as he realises what he must pass in the corridor before he can reach the cockpit. It will be the first time he has boarded the ship without his dad being somewhere in the galaxy, living, breathing.

He climbs the ramp and hits the button to close it. Chewie is taking care of Finn, and Ben walks past him, ignoring the shape in the bunk that his eyes refuse to see.

He drops into the pilot’s seat and prepares for take off. He can feel the ground rupturing, cracks forming in the crust, and the Falcon lifts off of the ground just as the earth beneath them splits.

Ansad will be swallowed up by this mess. As well he should.

The last of the X-wings disappear into light speed, and Ben prepares the route, his brain processing the calculations quickly as though desperate for distraction. He makes the jump, leaving this sorry world behind him.

But now he’s only left with his thoughts which wander towards the corridor, and his dad, and all the things that will never happen. How can he ever face a day if the first words he hears aren’t ‘Hey, kid.’? What is he going to do when he walks into a cantina looking for a job and it’s _just_ him and Chewie?

But he can’t go looking for jobs anymore. Today has made that very clear. His old life, the life he had built with his dad, the brief blip of a dream that he had been able to enjoy, is gone forever. Now he’s left with no choice but to pick up the pieces of his past, and stray back onto his abandoned path.

Rey comes into the cockpit and sits sideways in the co-pilot’s seat. He can feel her looking across at him, and inside, he can sense the bubbling emotion within her, but he continues to stare out of the viewport as the galaxy streaks past them.

“Ben, I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t say anything, but Rey reaches across and places her hand on top of his. He wonders whether she can sense him in the Force, the same way he can sense her, and it’s only by ruminating on this that he manages to make it through the journey back to base, his gaze fixed on the viewport.

Her hand slips from his when he finally has to bring the Falcon in to land. He misses her touch already, a human distraction from the grief that is so heavy he can barely hold it up. It’s pushing down on him from above, threatening to consume him, but he needs to focus on landing. He takes it as slow as he dare without stalling the engines, trying to make the landing gentle enough to not cause Finn any more damage.

Once they’ve touched down however he can’t get off the ship fast enough. He wants to run from this whole mess, unable to face the loss of his dad, the damage to Finn, Chewie’s grief, and Rey, who until yesterday was just a scavenger. She’s been dragged into this because of him, Maz had made that quite clear.

Everywhere Ben goes he leaves a trail of grief and destruction. Only his dad had been able to divert it.

But now he’s fallen victim to it.

His legs feel like jelly, and it’s gravity that pulls him down the ramp more than anything. His mother’s already waiting there, and he goes straight to her. As soon as she puts her arms around him, he breaks, his soul shattering.

Once he starts crying, he can’t stop. He doesn’t register the hive of activity around them — celebrations of victory, medics hurrying to collect Finn, or Rey, wandering aimlessly into the base, numb from everything she has seen.

His mother holds him tightly, and her small frame has him nearly doubled over to bury his face in the soft shoulder of her jacket. He cannot comprehend what his life means now, let alone accept it. Suddenly all the things his dad used to do, even the annoying things, flood into his mind as he realises they’ll never happen again.

It’s only been an hour and Ben can barely function. How the hell is he supposed to face a lifetime without him?

“Mom.” It’s the only word he can croak out, and he doesn’t know what to follow it up with, but she strokes his hair and kisses him.

“I know.”

* * *

Everything is numb.

He has recounted the whole experience to his mom at least a half dozen times, relaying every single detail, trying to make sense of it all.

“I could have stopped the shot,” he says for the hundredth time.

“He didn’t want to take that risk,” she tells him for the hundredth time. “He loved you,” she tells him, for the thousandth time. “More than anything.”

Ben’s not sure what that love is worth now. He can’t feel it anymore. In all those years since his world tipped sideways, he had felt it every single day. And now there’s nothing.

There’s a corpse.

And he could still be alive if he didn’t have to be such a hero.

It’s the pointlessness of it all that hurts most. If he had lost his dad to some noble act that was critical to destroying the base, he could have understood that. It would have made sense. He would have hated it, but it would have made sense.

But he didn’t need to die. One rogue blast from Ansad and one careless shove and that’s it. That’s how it ends. That’s all his dad amounts to after all these years.

Ben stares at the body, wrapped in reams and reams of cloth. The pyre is high, nearly as tall as he is himself, and his face is level with his dad’s as he approaches with the torch. Even under the cloth, Ben can tell the shape of his nose. It’s his own nose after all. Just another thing his dad gave him.

The flame flickers beside him, but Ben can’t bring himself to take the next step. He can’t bear to be the one to destroy the last of his dad.

He can feel eyes on him, everyone watching, everyone waiting. All these people who have no idea who his dad was, waiting to watch him burn. Ben hates every one of them.

Leaves crunch underfoot, and his mom draws up alongside him, placing her hand on his back and resting her head against the side of his arm.

“It’s okay,” she says. “Ben.”

It’s not okay, but he moves the torch forward, slotting it into the gap in the pyre. A little smoke issues from within, and then a quiet crackle as the flames take hold. His mom tugs the back of his shirt and he takes a few steps backwards with her, rejoining the crowd. His hand feels dirty where he had held the torch, as though he’ll never get rid of the feeling of it.

But then a hand closes around it, erasing the impression of the torch.

He looks across to Rey, who keeps her eyes focused on the pyre, the flames licking up the sides, heat building and building. Ben presses his lips together. He has cried himself raw in the last couple of days. Now he’s just empty. But this, from her, makes something swell up inside him that is too abstract for him to process.

It’s like that same feeling he’d had when he’d first run from the temple and his dad had fixed up all his messes for him.

He knows the war is just beginning — that there’s a whole journey ahead of him. But having Rey here, by his side, despite the fact that he barely knows her, feels right in ways he cannot untangle. She saved his skin once before, all those years ago on Jakku. She changed his life forever that day.

And even though his dad is gone, and everything in the world feels impossible, Ben wonders if there’s a place for him in this after all. If he’s supposed to see this through with her. Twice in a row now, the galaxy has given him Rey — a tonic for when he is truly distraught.

So maybe, just maybe, there’s more to learn about her. Maybe they can make it through this mess together.

Ben squeezes her hand. He cannot say how he feels, and even if he could put it into words, she’d probably run for the hills. But squeezing her hand says enough. And enough will have to do for now.


	16. Chapter 16

“Why can’t _you_ train me?” she asks. It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last.

“I can’t afford to make you vulnerable to him,” Ben says, and then he grits his teeth, steeling himself to say the next bit. “Besides, Mom wants Luke to come back and you’re the best chance we have to win him over.”

Rey frowns, and rests her feet against the console. It’s raining outside, big fat droplets pattering against the viewport. Ben is slouched in the pilot’s seat, twiddling his dad’s lucky dice in his hand, the chain running between his fingers.

“But I’m a stranger,” Rey argues. “You’re his —”

“I’m not anything,” he cuts her off quickly. He doesn’t even want to hear her say it. He’s spent the last six years trying to sever every last connection he has to Luke. He doesn’t need her speaking of the unbreakable thread that ties them together. He doesn’t need another reminder.

“You could stay with me,” she says, but Ben shakes his head.

“Me and him in the same place…it’s not a good idea.”

“So why is it a good idea for _me_ to be there? If he’s dangerous? _Ben_.” She leans forward, her hand closing around his arm, and Ben turns to look at her. She’s looking up at him with wide, imploring eyes, and Ben sighs, slumps further into his seat. He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. Explaining it to her involves deconstructing some uncomfortable truths for himself.

“He’s not a danger to _you_.” He tells her. “And he’s probably not a danger to me, now. But after what he did, I can’t…” he trails off and stares up at the ceiling.

“All right,” she says, her thumb moving back and forth across his forearm. He can feel the warmth of her hand through his sleeve, as though she’s still carrying the bright Jakku sun in her skin.

“You’ll have Chewie with you,” he tells her, still focusing on the metalwork above. “And if things feel wrong, or they start to go bad, just leave, or get a message to me, or…” Ben shrugs. “I dunno, kill him for all I care.”

She doesn’t laugh, which is fair. He’s not sure he’s joking either.

“Are you really going to come back here?” she asks.

She’s got the measure of him already. At night, when he lays awake in his bunk, he wonders about skipping out on all of it. But the only thing that stops him is Rey. She would have to pick up the pieces. She would have to make up for his cowardice.

He has no idea how she can be expected to become a fully-fledged Jedi in such a short space of time. Ben had spent more than a decade training before he’d abandoned it.

But she’s powerful, he can feel that. He can hardly escape her power, and can sense where she is all the time now. It’s like he’s tethered to her.

There are worse people to be tethered to. He’s not sure she’s got the decent end of the deal though.

Footsteps sound on the ramp, and they both turn towards the corridor as heavy boots scuff on the grille floor. Poe comes into view, and Ben, disinterested, turns back towards the viewport. The trees are blurry from the raindrops, each one oozing into others and distorting the world outside.

“The general wants to see you,” Poe says. Ben doesn’t look up.

“Me or him?” Rey asks quietly.

“Him,” Poe replies. “Now.”

Ben lets out a sigh and stands up. His eyes linger on his dad’s jacket, hung over the back of the seat. He brushes his fingers against it, the leather soft with age and thinning at the elbow. He hooks the dice back in their rightful place and leaves the cockpit, ambling down the corridor towards the ramp.

He can sense a lecture.

“He’s not much of a talker, huh?” Poe’s voice fades out of earshot as Ben descends the ramp, and yet somehow, Rey’s reply sounds crystal clear in his ears.

“He’s _grieving_. Cut him some slack.”

Poe’s response is a distant mumble, but again, Rey’s voice sounds like she’s just a few feet away from him.

“He’s been through a lot — more than you know.”

Ben turns around, scowling at the leafy clearing, but Rey’s nowhere to be seen. Nor is Poe. He huffs and shoves his hands in his pockets, heading towards the base.

He must have imagined it. It’s probably about time his paranoia made an unwelcome return. If Luke’s coming back, all of the mental trauma associated with him might as well rear its ugly head again too.

His mom is reading a report when he arrives. The doors to her office are open — it’s probably some sort of policy she has — but he knocks on the edge of the doorway anyway. She looks up, smiles warmly, and gestures for him to take a seat.

“Tea?” she asks, halfway out of her chair.

“No thanks,” Ben replies. He won’t submit to some drawn out affair.Even with partially mended bridges he doesn’t like sitting here, in her office, after being summoned. It feels like he’s in trouble, or he’s about to be given orders.

He’s not used to either of those things. And he doesn’t intend to get used to them.

His mom sinks back down into her seat. She surveys him from behind her desk. In the week since Starkiller base, she looks like she’s aged a decade.

“How are you feeling?”

Ben presses his lips together and looks down at the floor. There’s a mark on it, and he tries to scrape it away with the side of his boot, but it’s so deeply ingrained that it won’t budge. “I dunno,” he mumbles at last, accompanying his answer with a minute shrug.

“Talking about it will help,” she tells him softly.

“I don’t _want_ to talk about,” he replies quickly. It’s one of the few certainties in his life at the moment. Already, the prospect of being forced into conversation about it has tightened his throat, his nerves tingling as the grief threatens to crash into him once again.

“I promise you it helps,” his mom says, but Ben shakes his head. “It’s not good for you to bottle it all up like this.”

Ben clenches his jaw. He doesn’t need to be told what’s good for him and what’s not. She barely knows him anymore, has no idea the man he’s become since he’s shaken off the shackles of his training. Bottling it up is the only way he can function.

His eyes are hot and itchy, and a blur creeps into the lower portion of his vision. He buries his face in his hands, gripping his hair tightly, as though it will anchor him to reality, but he’s slipping into his grief, as he does so very easily, even at the slightest push.

“Ben?”

Something within him cracks. “I just can’t stop thinking about it,” he tells her, his words muffled by his hands. He sniffs and rests his forehead on the heel of his palm, his breath shaky as he tries to regulate his emotions. 

“I know,” she says, but it doesn’t help.

“Literally every single second of every single day, the only thing I can think about is that fact that he’s _not here_.” His voices breaks on the last two words and he presses lips together as the blur in his eyes grows.

A tear drops, splashing onto his thigh, and Ben closes his eyes, another tear trickling down his cheek until it slips off of his jaw. He sniffs, curling his fingers into his hair as he tries to shove his feelings into a locked box. But he can’t.

“It all goes so _slowly_ ,” he tells her. “I can be working on the Falcon for ages and I think hours have gone by but it’s been ten _minutes_. And every damn minute seems like it takes forever to pass and the only way I can get through it is by pretending he’s in the next _room_.” What’s left of his composure shatters, and he digs the heels of his palms into his eyes just as the first sob comes, his shoulders shuddering.

He hears the chair legs scrape and her light footsteps follow. Soon her arms are wrapped around his shoulders, his head resting against her stomach as he cries in earnest. One hand strokes his hair while she utters soothing words he cannot process.

It feels like he’s on a much slower path than everyone else, living several lifetimes each day, each one painfully prolonged by the agony of his grief.

“I don’t think I can do this without him,” he confesses, his hand gripping his mom’s sleeve. Saying it out loud for the first time only breaks him further, and his mom holds him more tightly.

“You can,” she murmurs. “And you will.”

He doesn’t want to though.

* * *

It’s been a long time since he’s flown something this cramped. He’s used to being able to stretch his legs, get up, walk around. But the X-wing doesn’t enable any of that. He’s stuck in a tiny cockpit for the entire journey.

He’s not sure how he feels about giving Rey the Falcon. It’s not permanent, and Chewie will be with her so it’s barely even a loan. But he’ll be flying away from it, back to base, for the foreseeable future.

Ben has tried to convince himself that a break from it will be good for him. But it feels wrong, all the same, to be walking away from it so soon. He’s only just got it back after all.

He lands next to the Falcon on a shale covered ledge. The sea crashes against the rocks, salt water splashing high up into the air and spraying the ships. Ben removes his helmet and sets it on the dash. He had refused the orange jumpsuit, opting instead for his own clothes. Or rather, the clothes that had been sourced in his side from the Resistance’s supplies.

In his standard issue beige shirt he looks just like everyone else at the base, but he couldn’t feel more of an outsider. He’s not looking forward to his return. But equally he can’t get off of this planet fast enough. His choices are limited to two different varieties of utter shit.

He hops out of the X-wing and drops down to the ground, sinking onto his haunches to absorb the landing. He stands, and turns to survey the island. It’s all craggy rocks and green moss that’s bound to be slippery underfoot.

Knowing Luke he’ll have secluded himself in the most difficult to reach spot. But that’s fine. Ben can persevere.

Rey leads the group, picking her way up the rocks and using her staff for balance. Ben follows behind, taking her hand whenever offered, and Chewie is at the rear, grumbling about the walk, the weather, and anything else that pains him.

The lightsaber is clipped to her belt. Ben has no desire to use it, even now, even after he had embraced it without fear. It’s a lightsaber that has done terrible things, and he refuses to be the next in the bloodline to wield it. It can have a different story, with Rey.

Luke must be expecting them, because he’s standing by the cliff edge, looking out to sea, his robes fluttering in the wind. Rey stops in her tracks, staring at him, before she turns around to look at Ben.

“Are you all right?” she asks quietly, her words soft on the breeze, her hair tickling her face as the current tugs at the loose strands.

He’s not okay, but he nods anyway.

Ben looks up towards the figure, trying to push down every ounce of animosity, every iota of pain and hurt that he associates with him. The galaxy has far bigger problems for them to solve.

It’s not just him, either. He turns back to look at Chewie, who has a grim expression on his face, his eyebrows set in a scowl.

“Keep your cool, all right?”

 _Whatever_.

As assurances go, it’s not much, but Ben turns back around, giving Rey a gentle nudge. She starts walking again, and Ben digs his hands in the pockets of his jacket, if only to physically keep them away from his blaster. He doesn’t trust himself.

Luke turns around, and his eyes land on Ben. They widen, just a little, as though the sight of him is a surprise, as though he hadn’t anticipated their arrival. Ben reaches out in the Force, but he can’t _feel_ Luke. Perhaps it really is a surprise to him. Perhaps he’s closed himself off.

“ _Ben_.”

His voice is far hoarser than Ben remembers, and it’s as though the cragginess of the island has seeped into him, roughening his features, greying his hair, and cracking his voice.

“This is Rey,” Ben says, nodding towards her. “She needs to be taught the ways of the Force.” He has rehearsed the line over and over in his head on the flight here. He had convinced himself it would be the only thing he needed to say.

But Luke doesn’t even look at Rey. He dismisses her existence altogether, and takes a step forward.

“Ben I —”

“I’m not here as your nephew,” Ben replies coldly. “And I’m definitely not here to forgive you. I’m here because she needs a teacher.”

Luke’s mouth closes, and he takes a few breaths before turning his gaze towards Rey. He assesses her for a moment, then turns his attention back to Ben. “Why can’t you teach her?”

Ben presses his lips together. Luke needs to understand the severity of the situation, but that involves Ben exchanging the deepest, most shameful part of himself in order to achieve that. It’s a disgusting transaction, one that makes his palms sweaty even on this chilly rock of an island.

“Because we can’t afford to let Snoke find out about her,” Ben replies.

There’s a flicker of recognition in Luke’s eyes. “You’re still letting him in.”

Ben’s fists clench in his pockets, temper flaring. He crosses the gap between them, barely registering Rey trying to catch his arm as he storms across the clifftop. “I’m not _letting_ him do _anything_ ,” he spits. “Snoke takes and takes and _takes_ and it’s all he’s done my whole life, ever since I was a little kid. But of course you never bothered to _ask_.”

It’s only now that Ben realises Luke is far smaller than he remembers. He looks up at him, pale eyes in an ageing face, his scraggly grey beard streaked with white.

“I’m sorry, kid.”

Ben blanches and turns away. It’s the first time anyone has addressed him as such since…

He presses his hands to his face and tries to breathe deeply, but his heart is pounding, grief threatening to swallow him whole as his dad’s voice echoes around in his head.

_“Sure thing, kid.”_

_“Sleep well, kid?”_

_“I love ya, kid.”_

“Ben.” It’s Rey’s voice this time, and a cool hand closes around his wrist, gently pulling his hand away from his face. “It’s all right,” she says. “Everything’s all right.”

It’s not, but he can’t do much about it for now. She doesn’t understand what that one single word conjures up for him, and the sheer pain of knowing he’ll never hear it uttered by the correct mouth ever again.

“Ben?” It’s Luke this time, his tone far quieter, heavy with realisation. “Where’s your dad?”

Rey grips the sleeve of his jacket tightly, as though she thinks he might punch Luke in the face. But his words don’t fill him with rage. They pierce him, deflating him like a spoilt balloon. But that doesn’t mean that Luke deserves kindness from him. Far from it, in fact.

“Ansad killed him.” He chokes the words out, unable to associate them with reality.

“ _Ansad_?”

“Didn’t you get the message?” Ben asks in disbelief. “Ansad was Snoke’s back up. Maybe if you’d spent more time focusing on him instead of trying to kill me, Dad would still _be here_.”

Deep down, Ben knows none of it would have mattered. If Luke hadn’t have driven him away, Ben wouldn’t have spent the last six years with his dad. He wouldn’t have gotten to know him properly, not just as a son knows a father, but as a human being. It’s _only_ because of Luke that Ben had any real relationship with his dad at all. If he’d completed his training he would have been distanced from him, forever.

The galaxy is far more complicated than he will ever comprehend.

“Ben, I’m so s—”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Ben snaps. “Don’t you _dare_ tell me you’re sorry.”

Luke falls silent, and Ben tugs his arm out of Rey’s grip, so he can cross the distance once more, towering over Luke.

“You train Rey,” he tells him, his voice low. “That’s your job. That’s what you owe the galaxy after you fucked everything up. You _train_ her.” He takes half a step forward, so that there is no chance that Rey will hear his next words, no chance that the wind will betray him and carry his message back to her. “And you should know that if you _hurt her_ , if you put her in any danger at _all_ , I’ll come straight back to this shitty island, and I _will_ kill you.”

“I won’t hurt her,” Luke replies, standing his ground, his voice strong. “Ben, I can promise you that.”

“Your promise means _nothing_ ,” Ben retorts. “But I’m warning you, I _won’t_ hesitate.”

“Fine,” Luke says, and he holds out his good hand for Ben to shake, as though striking a deal. Ben looks down at it, then turns away, leaving him hanging. He heads back over to Rey, trying to ignore the anxiety building inside of him.

“You get a message to me if you’re not happy okay? If anything feels wrong, all right?”

She nods, offering him a reassuring smile.

“And Chewie’s here, so you’ve always got him, and you’ve got the Falcon so you can leave any time you want.”

“I’ll be fine,” she says, and she pulls him into a hug. “I promise, I’ll be fine. Please don’t worry.”

Ben leans in to her touch, one hand resting on the small of her back, the other holding onto her shoulder. His old sweater hangs off of her in folds. She is so slight, and so young, and so naive, that all he can do is worry. In some respects she’s old beyond her years. She’s had to fight for every scrap of life she’s ever had. But still, she holds him in far too high a regard for someone she’s just met. She trusts him far too much.

He doesn’t want her to regret it.

Ben breaks away and looks down at her, committing her face to memory one last time. He’ll be lonely without her. Hers is the only company he can really bear at the moment. And he’s leaving her on an island in the furthest reaches of the galaxy.

It’s a price he has to pay, and so he gives her shoulder one last squeeze before he moves on to Chewie.

“Will you look after her?” he asks. “Please?”

 _I don’t think she needs looking after_.

“Chewie,” Ben says pointedly. “ _Please_.”

The Wookiee relents, and nods, then pulls Ben into a bone cracking hug.

 _You take care of yourself,_ he says. _Your dad would want you to look after yourself, so don’t do anything stupid._

Ben holds onto him, Chewie’s fur scratching at the side of his face. The words hardly mean anything right now. Ben can hardly figure out what he’s doing from one moment to the next, let alone assess the difference between something stupid and something sensible. He’s only been able to get to Ahch-To because his anxieties over Luke have given him something to focus on. But now he’s heading back to base with no Rey, no Chewie, and most of all, no _dad_ , he has no idea how he’s going to cope.

He lets go of Chewie before he can think better of it, and starts towards the rocky path that will lead him back to the ships. As far as he’s concerned, he can’t leave the island fast enough, and as the X-wing rises into the air, he turns it, taking one last look at the small pale figure denoting Rey on the cliff below.

She’s talking to Luke. Which is far more than he’s prepared to do.

He sets the coordinates for D’Qar, and leaves the island behind as fast at the X-wing will allow.


	17. Chapter 17

He is snuggled under his blanket, his fingers gripping it tightly around his shoulders. And yet, somehow, he is still cold.

Ben opens his eyes, his vision bleary, and sees a shape in the darkness. As his eyes adjust, it becomes clearer, sunlight creeping through to highlight her cheekbones. He frowns. She can’t have run away from Ahch-To already, surely not.

He sits up, and the world comes rushing back to him. He looks across to the spot where he’d seen her, but all he can see is the door. No Rey, no thread of light colouring her face. Just the darkness of the windowless room he’s been allocated by the Resistance.

Maybe he’s losing it.

Or maybe he misses her more than he can process. Her presence is so soothing, and even just sitting with her in the aftermath, hiding in the cockpit of the Falcon to avoid everybody else, had helped him those first few days.

Either way, his thoughts linger on her.

Ben rests his head in his hands and tries to find a sense of focus, something to get him through the day ahead. His first without her, without Chewie. He’s got no one left. It’s not a helpful conclusion to arrive at, and he lets out a sigh, before getting ready for the day.

He visits the med bay first, checking in on Finn. Poe is already there, and he nods to Ben upon his arrival.

“How’s he doing?” Ben asks.

“Stable,” Poe replies, not taking his eyes from Finn’s face. His peaceful expression is obscured by the data readout on the shell surrounding him, but Ben hopes that the sedation and the meds are working for him.

“Are you okay?” Ben asks, and Poe’s dark eyebrows twitch into a frown. His eyes are bloodshot, and whenever he’s been off duty, Ben has seen him spend every spare moment by Finn’s bedside, tracking his slow and steady heart rate on the data readout.

“Yeah,” Poe says, glancing up at him briefly. There are dark circles under his eyes. Ben tries to think of something to say, but he’s not good at this kind of thing. He’s never been good at it, and so he leaves Poe to it, heading for the mess hall to get some breakfast.

“You got back late last night,” his mom says as he waits in line. Ben turns around — she’s right behind him, breakfast tray in hand — then looks back at the options for breakfast. They all look a little sad and tasteless.

“Yeah,” he replies. “It was a long flight.”

“How did it go?” she asks, the question heavy with the weight of a thousand sub-questions.

“He’s going to train her,” Ben replies, handing his tray over to one of the cooks, who fills it with generous portions. Being the general’s son has its privileges, though Ben can’t be certain that large portions of these offerings can particularly be counted as a blessing.

“Do you think he’ll come back?”

“Probably.”

His mom hums in contemplation as Ben is handed back his tray. He waits for her tray to be loaded, and together they walk over to an empty table in a quiet corner of the hall. Ben is conscious of eyes following him, gazes diverting when they catch him looking. He has no idea why they’re so interested. Surely they all knew he existed?

Or maybe they didn’t.

It doesn’t matter now though. Not much really does anymore.

“I’m not so sure,” she says, setting her tray down on the table and slipping into a seat.

“What?”

“That he’ll come back,” she replies, frowning down at her breakfast. “What makes you think he will?”

“Rey.”

His mom’s mouth twitches at one corner. “What about Rey?”

It’s difficult to explain. His mom doesn’t know Rey hardly at all. All she knows is that she has power, that she’s from Jakku, and that she’s spent most of the last week on the Falcon staring solemnly out of the viewport with Ben.

“She…” Ben trails off, and pushes his breakfast around the tray with his fork. “She has a way with people. I don’t think she realises it.”

“What kind of way?” his mom asks curiously.

“She ingratiates herself. Endears herself. Invites…loyalty I guess.” It sounds manipulative when he says it out loud, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. He thinks of the look his dad had given him, when she’d first lain eyes on Takodana and had seen trees for the first time.

No one’s immune to her.

“She has this way of getting people on her side. So they’d follow her anywhere. I think she’ll win Luke over.” His name tastes bitter in Ben’s mouth, but he manages to say it civilly, rather than spit it out like a poison.

“Would _you_ follow her anywhere?” his mom asks, one eyebrow raised. She lifts her coffee cup to her lips and takes a sip, her eyes on Ben as he answers.

“I followed her to Ahch-To,” he says with a shrug.

For him, it’s the equivalent of following her into the depths of hell. His mother must understand that, because she questions him no further.

* * *

The alarm sounds, and Ben rushes to the main hangar, crowding round the console as people sprint towards the gathering. But no one comes to address them. Instead, an automated voice echoes overhead.

“ _Code red evacuation. Please make your way to the main cruiser. All pilots to their stations_.”

The message repeats, over and over, red lights flashing on each wall. Ben sprints over to his X-wing, pulling the garish jumpsuit on over his clothes. But then he stops stone cold.

And he runs to his room.

He takes his dad’s jacket, bundles it up, and shoves it inside a sack with the few belongings he has. If nothing else, he can’t lose that. Just that one thing he needs to keep. He flies back down the corridors, skidding round corners and narrowly missing those rushing the other way. The place is in chaos, but he manages to give the bag to Commander D’Acy.

“ _Please_ ,” he says. “It has my dad’s —” but before he can finish the explanation, D’Acy nods and swings the bag over her shoulder, hurrying towards the cruiser. When he turns around, a shot of cool relief flooding his veins, his mom is standing there.

“Get on the cruiser,” she tells him, her expression stern.

“No,” Ben argues. “What are you talking about?”

“Ben _please_ ,” she says, stepping forward and taking his hand in hers. “I can’t lose you to this fight. You have something much bigger ahead of you.”

Ben tugs his hand from hers. “This isn’t a game,” he snaps. “You can’t just strategise about when you _might_ wanna lose.”

“I can’t afford to lose you in a dogfight!” Her voice is strained, her eyes bright. “I can’t afford to lose you at all, but especially not to this.”

Ben shakes his head. “The bombers have a better chance if I’m there,” he tells her, and before she can argue any further, he turns, and he runs. He skids to a halt next to his shp hauls himself up the ladder, then swings his legs into the cockpit in one smooth movement. He lands with a bit of a thud, but his astromech is in place, his canopy sealed above him.

The squadron is starting out — Poe has already gone on ahead, and Ben ignores his mother’s stare as ammunition, food, and medical supplies are loaded haphazardly onto the cruiser.

He takes off, easing out of the hangar, and swooping up into the sky, leaving D’Qar behind for the last time. The formation comes together as they reach the outer atmosphere, and Ben grips the controls, breathing deeply. He can get through this just fine, just as long as he gives himself over to the Force.

Eyes closed, he makes sense of everything around him, and in the distance he can feel a familiar darkness. But there’s also something bright, like a star, a pinprick of light. Even when she’s so many lightyears away, he can sense her.

Over the comm-link, his mom is arguing with Poe.

“Disengage _now_ , Commander, that’s an order!”

Evidently, Poe has chosen to ignore her — perhaps Ben has more in common with him than he was first led to believe. He looks across at the next X-wing, piloted by someone whose name he doesn’t know. She meets his gaze and shrugs, but stays in formation.

So they’re going for it.

And they only have a chance if they’re all in.

The TIE fighters swarm like bugs on a hot day, and Ben fires, taking out one, sending it spinning off into oblivion. But on the far side of the fleet, one of their bombers is already collapsing into flame. He swallows the lump in his throat. This was a terrible idea.

But he’s here now.

Two TIE fighters are gunning for a bomber, green jets pelting from their cannons. They’re just out of his firing range, but Ben raises a hand, and casually swipes two fingers towards the right. He’s curious more than anything. He knows how much power he has deep down, but he’s never tried anything like this before.

The nearest fighter swerves into its fellow, wings colliding as the ships burst into flame.

“Neat,” he breathes, and he sweeps between the bombers, firing jets of red at oncoming fighters. He takes out one, and it collides the the top of the dreadnaught, but then another fighter bursts into flame alongside him, spinning towards the bomber.

He can sense the explosion half a second before it happens and yanks his controls towards him. He soars up as the bomber explodes, but it’s too close to the next one, its debris shattering the body of the next bomber, creating a domino effect of disaster.

And now, there’s only one bomber left.

Ben presses his lips together and sweeps back around. The TIE fighters are moving fast, darting in every direction, but he takes a breath, and presses his thumb to the trigger. One, and then another, and another. Three hits in quick succession. But one spirals towards the bomber, heading straight for the cockpit.

His hand moves before he can think about it, and he pushes with all his might. The TIE fighter slows, then rebounds as if it had hit an invisible wall. It plunges towards the dreadnaught, bursting into flames on contact, and then, moments later, the bombs drop.

“Turn it around Paige! Get out of there!” Poe’s voice sounds over the comm-link, distressed, relieved, grasping at straws.

Ben fires a couple more blasts towards the diminished TIE fighter fleet, but they’re on the retreat now, the last handful speeding back to their hangars.

He leans to one side to watch as the dreadnaught collapses in on itself, fire spreading throughout the great hulking mass of metal. The entire scene is pure carnage, and their fleet is decimated. But there are a handful of them remaining.

It feels like it takes Paige a lifetime to turn the bomber around, but she does, and they sail back to the cruiser, moving a little faster now the bomber has shed its deadly load. They dock, and Ben sees Poe’s black fighter swing in behind him, before the stars become distorted and the cruiser makes the jump to light speed.

He knows he’s going to get an earful. But at least there’s something to show for it. That last bomber would have been mincemeat without him. He starts racking up arguments in his head as he climbs down the ladder, but as soon as his feet touch the ground, there’s a shriek as something crashes into him. Arms fly around his neck, holding him tightly.

“You were _incredible_!” The woman pulls away from him, her face soot stained, her eyes bright as she beams up at him with an enormous smile. “It’s Ben, right?”

“Yeah,” he says, frowning. But then he sees the open doors of the bomber, and things drop into place. “Paige?”

“Yeah!” she says. “Where have you _been_ all this time?”

She’s interrupted as another woman, shorter, with an engineer’s uniform throws herself at Paige. Ben takes the opportunity to slip away and head to the bridge. Poe falls into step beside him, clapping him on the back as they stride along the corridor.

“That was some great flying,” he says, glancing across to Ben.

“You know you’re a crazy son of a bitch, right?” Ben replies.

“Well —”

“And my mom is gonna straight up murder you for going rogue.”

Poe draws in a breath of dread, but then his droid, rolling along beside him, chirrups in a way that makes both of them frown. They turns around, and Finn is standing there, his body suit leaking all over the corridor. But he’s awake, and it’s one good thing Ben can add to the list today. One less loss to contend with.

“Finn!” Poe says, his voice hoarse with relief.

“You take care of him, I’ll hold my mom off,” Ben tells him. The brief look that Poe sends his way is full of a thousand thank yous, before he breaks into a run, guiding Finn away to get dressed.

When he arrives on the bridge, everyone is celebrating. Everyone except his mom. Ben can see the screen in front of her, crosses marked through half the fleet. Most of their bombers are gone, as are their crews. But they took out a dreadnaught at least. At least there’s that.

It feels like a hollow prize when the numbers are so stark in front of him. The First Order can have another dreadnaught up and running within a matter of weeks. They have the resources, the leverage, and the firepower to demand whatever they want.

He wonders what the bank balance of the Resistance looks like. Whether it inheirted the last dregs of the New Republic’s funds, or whether it’s scraping by with whatever they can lay their hands on. Either way, it’ll be chump change in comparison to the First Order.

“You shouldn’t have gone,” she tells him.

Ben drops into the seat next to her. “It would have been worse if I hadn’t.”

She sighs, and that is the closest he’ll ever get to an admission of defeat from her. He puts an arm around her and she leans against him. If he knows her at all, she’ll spend her evening writing individual letters to each family, informing them of the news. He can’t imagine anything worse, reliving the same grief over and over, expressing the same worthless sentiments to people you’ve never met.

But she’ll do it. Because it’s the right thing to do.

“Finn’s awake,” he tells her, though he’s not sure if it’ll lift her mood too much.

“That’s great,” she says softly. “I’m glad. He’s a good kid.”

The ship drags as it drops out of light speed, and his mom gets up, preparing to give her next round of orders, But then Poe steps onto the bridge.

The slap resounds around the room, and Ben winces. Never has he been on the receiving end of that. He doesn’t hear what his mom says to Poe, but he throws a few tense retaliatory words in her direction, before the final blow is delivered, and Poe is left standing alone.

Ben heads over to the window, looking out at the stars beneath them. The noise on the bridge fades out, and the world around him seems to shift. All he hears is an intake of breath.

“Ben?”

He turns. Rey is standing there, her hair damp, her waterproof poncho hanging over her shoulders.

“ _Rey_?”

She takes a step towards him, and then hesitates, looking him up and down. “Are you real?” she asks. “I’m not hallucinating?”

“If you are, then I am too,” he tells her. He can’t make sense of it. She’s standing here, clear as day. He turns to look at the others, all continuing as normal, as though a woman hasn’t just randomly materialised on the bridge.

“Are you still on Ahch-To?” he asks. She can’t be. But she must be. Where else would she be? And would it even matter? She’s here, but not here, and her exact location is irrelevant.

She nods. “And you? I see you’ve been flying.” She nods to the flight suit, and Ben feels foolish for not shedding it sooner.

“On the cruiser. The First Order bombed D’Qar.”

“Is everyone —?”

“Fine,” he lies. He doesn’t have the energy to recount the story to her right now. And he needn’t upset her with deaths of people she doesn’t even know. “Finn too, he’s awake.”

She brightens at this, relief spreading across her face. It’s a lot for one day. Too much.

But she still can’t be _here_ , in front of him. The amount of energy it would take would be astronomical. The effort could kill her. And yet she’s standing there, clear as day. He can smell the freshness of the rain on her.

“How’s the training?” he asks, because he needs to ask something. He needs to try and find out how she’s managing this without alarming her.

“It’s okay,” she says, and she looks down at the ground, the toe of her boot digging into the floor. “I’m finding it a bit hard to get past what he did to you.”

Ben bites his lip. That won’t help her, even if he does appreciate the sentiment. “Forget about it,” he tells her. “Let me worry about that. You just worry about getting up to speed.”

She nods, and her lips curve into a small smile. “It’s quiet here,” she tells him. “Without you.”

Ben nods. “I’m not really fitting in here either,” he confesses, and he glances around the bridge at all the primly dressed Resistance officers, manning their individual stations. “But it’s not for long.” At least now, with their own private channel of communication, they get a chance to talk to each other properly. But the question still remains. How is she _doing_ this? It’s not him. He’s sure of it. It _must_ be her.

It’s a puzzle. But it’s one that needs to be kept private for now.

“Don’t tell Luke about this,” he says, and before he’s even gotten to the end of the sentence, she’s nodding in agreement.

“What d’you think’s causing it?” she asks.

“No idea,” he replies. “I’ve never heard of anything like this.”

But there _is_ something. In the back of his mind. Pieces slowly slipping into place and his brain turns the situation over and over. When it comes to the Force, all roads lead to Rey. His landing in Jakku, her somehow being the person to steal the Falcon from Plutt, her _somehow_ , against _all the odds_ , having powers of her own, whether that was his doing or not.

He has a sense that no matter what happens, his destiny is twisted with hers — for better or for worse. She’s probably getting the rougher end of that particular deal.

When he looks up, she’s gone, far too soon, and the noise of the bridge is already filling his ears once more. And there’s an alarm.

Ben turns around. Admiral Ackbar is yelling about a proximity alert. He rushes back to the console, his eyes meeting his mom’s across the controls. The holograms shift, displaying the First Order ships that have tailed them, despite the fact that they’ve only just come out of light speed. There’s no way the First Order can trace them through light speed. Surely there’s no way.

“That’s Snoke’s ship,” Poe says, assessing the diagrams hovering above the console.

The air is gone from Ben’s lungs. He clutches at the edge of the console as his knees buckle beneath him. Strong hands grip his arm, holding him up, and in the hazy blur of panic, Poe’s voice filters through.

“Can we jump to light speed?”

“We have enough fuel resources for just one jump.”

“Well then do it. We gotta get outta here.”

The lights of the console blur into one as Ben tries to focus, but he can feel the darkness, seeping into him like icy water. It begins at his toes, and creeps its way up his legs, winding its way around his spine like a vicious vine, tendrils shooting off and spearing into his brain.

“Wait.” It’s his mom’s voice. “They’ve tracked us through light speed.”

Even as his mind goes into meltdown, his body following suit, Ben knows what this means.

“It’s me,” he chokes out. “He can sense _me_.”

“I’m not saying that,” his mom says sharply. “And I don’t believe it to be true.”

“I can feel him,” Ben says, hot tears spilling down his cheeks. “In my _head_ , I can feel him there. He knows I’m _here_.” He can barely see through his tears, but he grips the console tightly, his knuckles popping under the skin. His stomach clenches, acid rising in his throat.

He’s not ready for this.

He’ll never be ready.

“Ben, honey?” Her voice is soft and close at hand. It filters through the darkness, like the soft flicker of a candle. “If he could sense you, if he could _follow you_ , don’t you think he would have found you on Starkiller base?”

Her logic makes no difference to him at all. Because they are faced with the inescapable fact that Snoke’s ship is on their tail after they escaped through light speed.

“But how else would they track us?” He has to force the words out, his throat tight, his voice strained. “It’s him, he’s come for me. I need to —”

“The First Order have probably pulled some dirty trick. It’d be just like them to find a way. Throw enough money at a problem just so they can chase us across the galaxy.” It’s Poe’s bitter voice this time, and Ben realises that it’s he who’s holding him up, his strong fingers buried into the flesh of his arm.

“Snoke can try and come for you if he likes,” his mom continues. “But I won’t let him lay a finger on you, d’you understand me? I will defend you until my last breath if that’s what it takes.”

“It shouldn’t _take that_ ,” Ben snaps. “You shouldn’t have to —”

“And you shouldn’t have to bear this burden alone. I should have been there for you when you needed me,” she tells him. “But I’m here now. And I’m telling you I will _not_ let him take you.”

A chair touches the back of Ben’s knees and he drops into it, another pair of hands on his shoulders, easing him into the seat. His breathing is heavy, ragged, his heart racing as a cold sweat clamours across his skin. His mom’s hand runs through his hair, combing it back from his face, and she holds him against her, one hand against the side of his face, thumb gently stroking his cheekbone.

“Poe’s right,” she says quietly. “It’ll be some dirty trick. They’ll have figured out a way to track us.”

“So what do we do?” It’s Finn’s voice, and Ben realises it’s his hands on his shoulders, ensuring he doesn’t tip sideways out of his chair. “If we jump to light speed they’ll just find us again and we’ll be out of fuel. They’ve got us.”

“Not yet they don’t,” Poe says, his voice full of renewed energy. “Permission to jump in an X-wing and blow something up?”

“Permission granted.”

Ben stands abruptly, hands slipping away from him. His legs feel like jelly but he has a newfound focus. And he’s still wearing his flight suit.

“I’ll come with you,” he says, looking across to Poe. He nods minutely, his gaze flicking across as if seeking permission for Ben to join him. But Ben isn’t asking for permission.

“No, absolutely not, you’re in no state to —”

“Either I get blown up sitting here, or I get blown up out there, or somehow, we all make it out of this alive. But we can’t afford to just sit here and wait for a solution. We need to _do_ something.”

His mom opens her mouth to argue, but Ben moves past her, his legs feeling oddly mechanical as he heads for the door. His body is still not quite linked up with his mind, but he’s certain that by the time he makes it to his ship, things will be a little more in sync.

Besides, it hardly matters. All he wants to do is find out one way or the other if Snoke’s tracking him. He could draw the fire away from them. His mom might be prepared to die defending him, but nobody else on this ship signed up for that.

It’s not right.

“Come on!” Poe tugs his sleeve as he runs past him and Ben speeds up, focusing on his path as opposed to the workings of his legs. The ship is already taking fire, the floor rumbling with each destructive boom. Fixtures fly out of their places, and Ben swipes his hand to keep them from crushing people as they flit down the corridors.

Paige is ahead of them, the straps of her cap fluttering as she tears towards her ship. She’s fast — faster than they are — and she speeds ahead, the sound of her boots lost in the chaos.

Ben and Poe skid around the corner, scrambling towards the hangar, but then Ben senses it.

One lucky pilot.

One lucky shot.

“Poe _no_!”

The hangar bursts into flames. Ben ducks as BB-8 comes soaring towards him, and Poe is blasted backwards by the force of the explosion, colliding with the wall. Ben shields his eyes from the debris, reaching forward for any survivors, but before he can scope them out, the alarm sounds, the hangar doors sealing shut.

“No!” Ben thumps his fist against the metal, but it doesn’t make any difference.

Paige is on the other side of that door. And now she’s sealed off, forever.

“Are you guys okay?” Finn has caught up with them, his arms around Poe, and Ben turns, leaning back against the hangar doors. Poe is more shaken than Ben has seen him yet, his face raw and bloodied, brown eyes bright with the realisation that they’re way out of their depth.

“We need to get out of range of those star destroyers,” he croaks.

As if obeying Poe’s command, the engines change in pitch, the frequency a little higher. Ben presses his lips together and holds out a hand to Poe, who grabs it, and lets Ben haul him back to his feet.

But then there’s a ground-shaking rumble, and Ben feels something within him. A jolt, an acute sense of…he doesn’t know what.

Except he does.

“Mom,” he says. And he runs for the bridge.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the brief lapse. I'm sort of halfway to recovering from an extremely shitty virus, which has meant zero writing all week, and zero editing. 
> 
> Not sure when the next update will be but hopefully within the next couple of days. Hope you enjoy.

The bridge is decimated. The entire side of the room has been blown to smithereens, every inhabitant sucked out into the gaping black chasm around them.

He can see her, floating there, and there’s nothing violent about it. It’s almost peaceful. The expanse around her lights up with flashes of ammunition, but she just hangs there, untouched by it all.

Ben presses his face up against the door. He’s certain he just saw her fingers twitch. But surely the blast alone would have finished her off? And if not that, then surely the cruel and unforgiving blackness beyond the ship?

But she’s still within the shields.

She starts to move, hand reaching out as she draws herself back towards the ship. Something jolts within Ben and he reaches out a hand too, pulling her closer and closer, speeding her towards home. If nothing else, he will tell her he’s sorry for everything.

He barely registers the others as they hurtle down the corridor and scramble at the control panel, overriding the deadlock on the door. It hisses open just as she reaches it, and Ben catches her, holding her tightly and sinking to the ground with her.

She’s icy cold, and Finn shakes off his jacket, giving it to Ben to wrap around her. He tries to rub some warmth back into her, then gently brushes the frost from her face.

It can’t end like this.

“Mom please,” he whispers, rocking her in his arms. Perhaps it will help the blood flow. He doesn’t know. He feels like he doesn’t know anything anymore.

She’s taken away from him, by experienced hands who can help her, but he follows the trolley dumbly down the corridor to the med bay. Poe and Finn hold him back while they get to work on her, drawing the drapes before they transfer her to a pod.

“She’ll be okay,” Poe murmurs. “She has to be.”

Ben knows that’s not a good enough reason. He can feel her life force, flickering in and out of focus, and he folds his arms over his chest, scrunching the loose fabric of his flight suit in his fist.

He can’t cope if he loses her. Not when he’s still dumbstruck by the loss of his dad, when that pain is so raw that it rips through him at every passing second, relentless and overbearing. She can’t be added to that awful list so soon, he can’t lose both of them in what feels like the same breath.

Something is digging into his chest, and Ben fishes out the binary beacon. He clutches it tightly in his hand, desperate to feel close to Rey. She would know what to say to him right now. Her presence would calm him.

When they draw the drapes again, she is cloaked in white. Some of the colour has returned to her cheeks, but Ben doesn’t need to be a medic to know that the heart rate readout on her data screen spikes far too infrequently.

He takes a seat beside her bed, and reaches out to take her frail hand in his. It’s all he can do for her right now, and regret pierces him as he comes to terms with his own foolishness. All those years spent running from her when she was never the problem. She was just trying to do too many things all at once. And maybe he suffered for it, but it was never her, specifically, that was the issue.

It’s just that she couldn’t help him.

He didn’t have to freeze her out like he did. He could have made more of an effort. He could have bitten his tongue and drawn a line under things. If only he’d had the good sense to realise, at the time.

Maybe there’s an alternate version of events where he _did_ realise that. Where he didn’t run from her, from home, quite so far and quite so fast.

But now there’s nothing he can do except sit here and wish he’d done a million things differently.

Now, more than ever, he wishes his dad were here.

“I gotta go to the briefing,” Poe tells him. “But I’ll be back in a little while.”

He disappears, and then Finn leaves too a few minutes after. Ben is alone, surrounded by the quiet bleeps of monitoring equipment, while his mom lays there, her life hanging in the balance.

The emptiness of the med bay is suffocating, and Ben closes his eyes, trying to escape the clinically white walls and harsh lighting.

“What’s wrong?”

Ben cricks his neck as he whips his head around. She’s standing there, face ruddy from the cold, hair fluttering around her face as if caught in a breeze.

“My mom,” he says, the words heavy on his chest. He relays the events to her in sporadic sentences, and when he can’t express himself any further he drops his head in frustration, both his hands still clasping his mom’s.

“Oh Ben,” Rey says softly, and she draws closer to him, slipping one slight arm around his shoulders. Even through his shirt he can feel the chill of her skin, but the warmth of her presence far outweighs it.

“I can’t lose both of them,” he whispers.

“You won’t,” Rey replies. “She’s strong.”

But maybe this is all part if the plan. Maybe the Force and the galaxy are in collusion, stealing away every last family member until Luke is the only one left. He won’t be pushed towards him out of desperation. If he loses his mom too he won’t seek comfort in his uncle. There are a whole host of people he’ll turn to first - Chewie, Maz, Lando, and even Rey now.

And if they’re taken from him too? The thought is small and dark, emanating from the base of his skull. He stamps it out.

That won’t happen. The galaxy will have to take him with it before he loses the rest of them. Because if they’re all taken too, what’s left to fight for? He’s not like Ansad, fuelled by bitterness and insecurity. He doesn’t chase power. He has no axe to grind.

He just wants to live.

But he doesn’t want to be alone.

“Chewie’s gone vegetarian.”

Ben frowns and looks up at her. “ _What_?”

“The local wildlife is too cute to eat apparently,” she tells him, a small smile tugging at her lips. “He’s gone soft on them.”

Ben lets out a breath of laughter. They’re words he never thought he’d hear, but the galaxy is full of surprises.

“I think it’s most likely temporary,” she adds, and her arm tightens a fraction around him. She has a bizarre way of anchoring him to her, even though he barely knows her. It’s difficult to get his head around, and he’s certainly in no state to contemplate it right now. And so he sits there, clinging to his mom while Rey keeps him secured to reality.

* * *

“Are you hearing this?”

Ben looks up. Poe is looking towards him, his hands on his hips with Finn next to him, and Paige’s sister leaning against the window.

“No, sorry,” he says. He hasn’t been listening to a damn thing. He has appreciated the background noise of their chatter, which has drowned out the lonely blips of the monitors, but it’s been nothing more than static to him.

Poe’s gaze softens, his eyes lingering on the peaceful expression on Ben’s mom’s face.

“It’s active tracking,” Paige’s sister tells him, stepping forward. “They’re only tracking us from one ship. So if we can turn it off, the Resistance can get away before they realise.”

“Doesn’t Holdo have a plan?” Ben asks. The fact that they’re holed up in the med bay making their own plans sets vague alarm bells ringing in the back of his mind.

“She won’t _tell us_ her plan,” Poe says, his expression hardening again. He skews his lips, his brow drawing forward into a sulk. “She has _no idea_ what she’s doing. She’s gonna get us all _killed_.”

“Unless we get on that ship,” Finn adds. “We can disable the tracking.”

“ _That’s_ suicide,” Ben tells him. “Never mind trying to outrun them, trying to get onto Snoke’s ship is a suicide mission.”

“We have to _try_.”

Ben looks across to Paige’s sister. He has no clue what her name is, but the tracks on her cheeks are from fresh tears. Her mind must be all over the place, skewed by grief. And it’s not right for the galaxy to take both sisters in one day. It’s not fair.

“I really don’t think —”

“We’re not asking you to board the ship,” Poe says. “We know you can’t go anywhere near Snoke. That’s fine. But we can’t do it on our own.”

Ben shakes his head. Even if he believed in the plan, which he doesn’t, he couldn’t leave his mom. Not now. He’s not convinced that Holdo’s just trying to outrun the First Order either. She’s an admiral, far superior to Poe’s rank whether he likes that or not.

“Why don’t you just tell Holdo what you figured out?” he asks quietly. He returns his eyes to his mom. Her eyes are closed, her long lashes brushing against her cheeks. “She might actually sanction the mission, give you a ship…”

Poe shakes his head. “She’s not like that. _Trust me_. She’s loving the power.”

“Okay,” Ben says. But he’s not interested. All of this sounds like rage and grief and desperation. None of it sounds strategic, clearheaded, or considered. But he’s not one to judge. He can barely string one thought to another as things stand.

“Ben —”

“I can’t leave her,” he tells Poe. “I can’t leave her because then…” He trails off, resting his mouth against his outstretched arm as he breathes deeply, trying to quell the flutter of panic deep within him. “I can’t lose both of them in a week. I just _can’t_.”

“Okay pal,” Poe says, and he grips Ben’s shoulder. “Just keep it to yourself, all right?”

Ben nods, and watches as Poe lifts the shell, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his mom’s forehead. Ben’s still not entirely sure that in the intervening years his mom hasn’t replaced his dad with a younger, darker haired version.

Maybe she missed the rashness of youth.

The three of them abandon the med bay, leaving Ben alone once more. He won’t tell Holdo of their plan. He’s not that guy. All the same he’s wary of it. But he just doesn’t have the headspace to worry about them on top of worrying about his mom. 

* * *

“How’s she doing?”

Ben inhales deeply and sits up straight. He’d slipped away into half a doze, thoughts tangled with grief. Admiral Holdo is standing in the doorway, her long gown brushing against the floor, fabric draping in elegant folds across her body.

“Stable,” he answers, trying to reconcile Poe’s perception of her with her bright eyes and kind smile.

She steps into the room, closing the door behind her, and Ben wonders if he’s about to get quizzed, or thrown to the brig for mutiny. But there’s no animosity in her expression. Quite the opposite.

Her soft shoes make barely any noise as she steps across the floor, gazing down at his mom. Her hands are clasped in front of her, bracelets jangling at her wrists. Ben waits. He’s in no mood to make conversation, especially not with someone who’s as good as a stranger to him.

“You know she’s so relieved to have you back,” Holdo tells him. She turns, backtracking awkwardly on her words. “I mean, they’re terrible circumstances, but she’s missed you so much these past few years.”

Ben doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need reminding of his dad on top of everything else. But she’s well intentioned, so he doesn’t snap back, despite the burning desire to do so.

“She’d talk about you all the time,” Holdo continues. “Ben this, Ben that. We used to get sick of it…” she laughs softly and looks down at her feet. “She loves you. So _so_ much.”

Ben’s stomach tightens with anxiety. “You think she’s gonna die.”

Holdo shakes her head, her lilac waves jiggling at the side of her face. “I just think she’d want me to remind you of the facts,” she tells him. “And because she can’t tell you that herself right now.”

But Ben doesn’t want to hear expressions of love from strangers. He only wants to hear them from his mom. Not anybody else who tries, no matter how generously, to try and pick up the pieces.

“I’ll leave you in peace,” Holdo says, taking a few steps towards the door. “Will you please let me know when the situation changes?”

“Sure,” Ben replies, his throat tight at the open ended question.

Holdo crosses towards the door, and then pauses. “Sorry,” she says. “Obviously this is a bad time. But what’s your impression of Captain Dameron?”

And there it is. The trap.

“He’s an excellent pilot,” he tells her, focusing his gaze on the creases of his mom’s knuckles. “And he has the attitude to go with it.”

Holdo smiles, and nods. “Thanks Ben,” she says. “Let me know if you need anything.”

He won’t. But he thanks her all the same.

The hours slip away from him, despite the fact that time is very much running out. Poe flits in and out, as if leaving the med bay for five minutes will evoke some sort of miraculous recovery. Ben wishes it would, then he could maybe start worrying about the First Order. But somehow those enormous ships don’t seem like so much of a threat in the clinical confines of the med bay.

He can barely feel the pulses of their cannons against the shields.

“Any change?”

She’s back again. If Ben were of a clearer head he might find the situation curious, a puzzle to be solved, but at the moment it’s just relief that he’s able to see her.

“No,” he tells her.

“And the First Order?”

“Still tailing us,” he replies. “They can track us through light speed.”

Rey pulls a face. “How?”

He cobbles together the explanation as best he can from the remnants in his brain. His concentration was lax at best during the discussions, but when he tells her of Finn and Rose’s plan, her eyes widen.

“They’re going to try and get on board the _ship_? That’s insane!”

“I know, I told them —”

“I have to _help_ them,” she says, and she paces around anxiously, brow furrowed.

“No,” Ben says, standing up and releasing his mom’s hand. “No, you definitely _shouldn’t_ do that. You need to stay where you are, focus on your training.” She can’t board the ship too - for a start, Snoke could sense her, her presence is far too strong to go undetected. Finn and Rose could fly under the radar, maybe. And at least Finn knows how things ought to be on a First Order ship. He’s slipping back into an old identity.

Rey would be spotted a mile off.

“Ben they could _die_.” She heads for the door, and Ben follows.

“Rey —” He reaches out for her hand, but as soon as he touches it, whatever arguments he had disappear from his mind, words dying in his throat.

The world evaporates, and a new one forms, cloaked in darkness. Rey is there, but not as she is now. She’s lying on the floor, convulsing, surrounded by red. The screams penetrate his mind, tearing through her throat as she begs for a reprieve. She’s sobbing, forks of lightning jolting into her body, and all the while, his cold blue eyes watch her mercilessly, power pouring from his fingertips. Punishing her for the sake of it. Just because he can.

The screams crescendo, until there is one last desperate gasp for air and then nothing. Just a body, flailing like a rag doll as Snoke sends a final few blasts of energy into her lifeless corpse.

Ben pulls away, breathless, acid rising in his throat. When reality comes back into focus, she’s there, in front of him, wide eyed, shocked, but alive.

He can’t speak.

“Did you just…” Rey trails off, but he doesn’t need to ask her to clarify. He nods numbly, his hands trembling.

“I have to go,” she breathes, and she disappears from sight, the connection shattering.

She’s far too stubborn for her own good though. And he knows she’ll be halfway to the Falcon already.

He has no choice.

Ben walks slowly across to his mom, acceptance creeping into his bones. He leans down to press his lips to her forehead, and squeezes her hand one last time before leaving the med bay and heading for the escape pods.

The time has come.


End file.
